Black Despair
by Phantasmarose
Summary: Christine chooses the scorpion, and is locked into Erik’s world. Will she learn to love him, or will she succumb to his black despair? Does Erik care that she is not with him of her own free will, as he claims to prefer? EC Leroux based. Please R
1. Chapter 1 Options

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**Summary:** Christine chooses the scorpion and is locked into Erik's world. Will she learn to love him, or will she succumb to his black despair? Does Erik care that she is not with him of her own free will as he claims to prefer? EC Leroux based.

**Chapter 1**

**Options **

"I do not wish to make you nervous, my dear, but he is running out of time." Erik turned away from the little window to face her. "Well?"

She grew paler on hearing his words. Christine wrung her hands again; they were getting hot and swollen from the constant rubbing. She knew she could not afford to make a mistake. The man she loved was counting on her to save him. When he knew that she was nearby his voice held hope as he called out to her. Hope was now dwindling to nothingness.

"Should I make the choice for you?" he asked, his voice as soft as silk. He could have been asking how she liked her eggs in the morning.

Her eyes wandered to his right hand. His long fingers matched his height. He wore a gold ring with a scorpion chasing a grasshopper. Each beast had the tail of the other in its mouth. She wondered if perhaps it was the grasshopper chasing the scorpion.

His eyes followed hers. "A small gift from the Persian Sultana for services rendered," he whispered in an ominous tone, turning the ring on his finger.

Pleading, she searched for his eyes. "Which one is doing the eating?"

"Why, if you knew that my dear, you would know the answer to my riddle and what fun would that be?" He tilted his head and smiled at her as a patient teacher smiles at a young, dull pupil.

She wrung her hands again and dried them on her dress. She was wearing a simple blue dress, one of the many dresses Erik had bought her. When she was in his house, he insisted she use only what he provided for her. "I don't know…Erik, please!"

He partially opened the small window to the trap room where her fiancé roasted like an animal on a spit, and looked through it. He made no comment, and she saw no expression on his face. "What was that, my dear?" He turned to face her again.

_He must be near death. Erik doesn't want me to know because he would lose leverage._ She was defeated and knew what her answer had to be. She had to save _his_ life or lose her own in mourning.

"The scorpion, Erik! I choose the scorpion!" He did not move; his eyes were fixed on nothing. She was certain, at that moment, she could walk away, and he would not notice.

"Do you hear me? Erik?" She pulled on his coat sleeve urgently, feeling a little forward, but this was an emergency after all.

Erik turned to her as if woken from a deep sleep. Then, he looked down at her hand and laughed his terrible laugh, devoid of mirth or joy. She hated that laugh. It made her skin crawl to think how he had developed that laugh. She remembered that the first time she heard it, she had not known to whom it belonged, but she had shuddered. Joseph Buquet's body was found not too long after, the sound of Erik's laughter resounding throughout the Opera's halls.

"Oh, but she is clever. My darling girl is very clever, indeed. Good choice!"

It surprised her that he did not clap. She grabbed his sleeve, "Let him go free Erik, please."

"Well…yes, of course. I hope it is not too late. But, I must tell you that some people do not recover well," he said, walking through the partition into the trap room.

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A few moments later, the vicomte lay on the floor inside the Louis Phillippe room. She noticed Erik stood over him with his imperial stance. His hands clasped behind him observing the young man as if he were an interesting specimen. Her heart crumpled at the sight of her beloved. _Raoul!_

Raoul de Chagny was almost unconscious. His face was red, and he was coughing from the cool air hitting his dry, scorched lungs. She knelt next to him and, using two fingers, stroked his overheated forehead. When she saw Erik's face change and the fury return to his eyes, she withdrew her hand, knowing it had been a mistake.

"Now, my dear, that will not do…we must protect your reputation at all costs." He roughly pulled her away from the vicomte. "It really will not do to have you fawning all over a half-dead nobleman when you are to be my wife." Slowly, Erik bent down and dragged the vicomte out of the room by the feet. The young man was now unconscious.

As Erik pulled the vicomte's dead weight into the living area, he heard footsteps. With a quick change in directions, he pulled the body to his bedroom. "Stay in your room, Christine!" he ordered.

"Erik, let the vicomte go," a vibrant voice called out. A short, dark-skinned man came through a trap door in Erik's library. He wore a dark coat and pants with a bright green waistcoat.

"Don't you at least greet me, Hafiz?" Erik said, with a look of feigned innocence.

"I know what you are up to," the dark-skinned man faced Erik. He looked nervous but determined to resolve the situation.

"I see that again you have circumvented my alarms. I must work on that." Erik looked as if this was something he should do immediately.

"Where is the Vicomte de Chagny?" Hafiz asked.

"Aside from the fact that I am not his keeper, why would I know of his whereabouts?" Erik replied.

"Erik, you must release the vicomte and his fiancée." The short man walked into the living area and nervously looked around.

"Where are they? You must bring them out."

"Who? Who must I bring out, Hafiz?" he asked, allowing his false innocence to show.

"Don't play with me, Erik! You know I'm talking about the vicomte and his fiancée, Christine Daaé."

"Hafiz, you enter my home without permission, and then you dare to impose your rules on me? How presumptuous of you!" A smirk spread on his lips. He decided to play his game a little longer with his oldest acquaintance. He couldn't really call him a friend. He couldn't call anyone a friend. If the length of time he had known Hafiz meant anything, then he was a 'special' acquaintance. Erik trusted Hafiz. He was an honest man, if such an absolute existed. The short Persian always hounded him, thinking he had done something wrong. How shocked he would be when he learned of his impending marriage. Of course, he wouldn't believe it at first, but eventually he would become his ally.

"However, since this is an especially happy day for me, I will indulge you. You wish to see Mlle. Daaé?" He walked over to her room and rapped on the door. "Christine? Come join us, my dear."

She had listened to every spoken word between the two men. Christine wasn't sure what her role would be in this new situation. As she emerged from the room, she realized that Raoul was not in the living area.

Erik extended his gloved hands out to her. "My dear, this is Hafiz, a friend of mine, but he has gotten the notion into his head that I am holding you against your wishes."

She took his hand and stepped to his side. Erik's arm went to her waist. "Would you enlighten him as to our status?"

Christine did not know if this stranger was trustworthy, or if he was part of Erik's master plan. He looked well dressed and was probably around Erik's age. If she ran to him for help, he might turn out to be a paid crony of Erik's, and then he would know of her betrayal. She had an idea of the punishment for betraying him. Her best chance to help Raoul survive was to play along. The short man's brown eyes held hers. He seemed frank to her, but she could not risk her beloved's life.

She gave the stranger her best operatic smile and offered him her hand. "Erik, why would anyone think I wouldn't want to be with you?"

"Mademoiselle, I beseech you, if this man is forcing you to remain with him, speak now, and be frank," Hafiz said, staring into her green eyes. She could see he wanted a straight answer.

"I understand your concern, but I am no longer engaged to the vicomte. I have promised myself to Erik." Erik held her by the waist lightly but possessively.

She saw the pride in Erik's eyes. _Doesn't he know I am acting? On the other hand, could he be acting too?_

With a heavy sigh, Hafiz looked into Erik's eyes. He looked too happy, too carefree, something was not right. He looked like a man who had just swept up at the races.

He turned back to Christine. "Mademoiselle…"

"Please, Sir, you are beginning to offend me. I have already explained myself."

"As a matter of fact Hafiz, perhaps you can aid me in preparing for my nuptials with Christine," Erik added.

"Well…I…"

"Expect me in your apartment tomorrow. We want to be husband and wife as soon as possible. Is that not so, my dear?" Hearing those words made Christine's knees tremble. Erik must have noticed because he held her tighter to him, and, with his support, she was able to keep the smile pasted to her face. She managed to nod her agreement.

"I will leave you now, then…I'm sorry, Erik, it seems everything_ is_ in order." The Persian did not sound convinced, but there was nothing he could do at that moment.

"Your visits are always…interesting, Hafiz."

"I take my leave then. Mademoiselle, Erik."

"Hafiz."

Both men bent from the waist in a formal bow. The shorter man left through the same side door he had come in through. When he was out of earshot, Erik exclaimed, "Damn him! Let him try to get through there again. He will find himself surprised!"

"Please, let me go. I need to sit down." Her thoughts rushed to Raoul. Where was he? She thought it was best for him that she not make inquiries as to his whereabouts. She took a seat on the divan.

Erik paced in front of her. "Why did you take so long to answer my questions when I called you out? Did you consider betraying me? You know that Erik would not have been happy." He kept shaking his head as if he were looking for an answer.

She looked up at him but made sure to keep her emotions guarded. He had known! Christine suddenly felt exhausted. It was over. She had doomed herself to a life with this man. She placed her face in her hands and tried to rest. Her palms were sweaty. Keeping her voice as steady as possible and adding a tone of disinterest, she asked, "Erik? What will you do with Raoul?"

"He is no longer your concern," he yelled. Then, checking himself, he continued in an even tone, "I will return him upstairs. Some kind soul is sure to find him."

"As you will, Erik. I think I'll go to my room and rest for a while." She got up and walked toward the Louis Phillippe room. She could feel his eyes on her. This was always the case when he thought she couldn't see him. She no longer needed to see him to feel the eyes burning into her, searching her soul.

"Good idea. Why don't you take a nap now? This way you will be fresh for tonight. We have a wedding to plan, tonight. But, Christine…make sure you don't touch that grasshopper!" From the glow in his eyes, she feared he would laugh again, but he just walked on to his own room. Christine lay on her bed, too tired and shocked to cry. She rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes, her lids burned. She fell into a dreamless sleep.

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When Christine woke up, she refreshed herself in her tiled bathroom with the huge tub; it always felt like such a luxury to use it. She went to her wardrobe and took out her shawl; it was always colder at night under the Opera House. His music drifted in, and she stood there listening to the beauty of it. How could someone who created such beauty, destroy with the same efficacy? He was playing one of the songs he had taught her to sing. She walked out toward the music.

She looked to his long form as he hunched over the piano. As always, he wore fine clothing, expertly tailored, and yet, his clothes always managed not to fit him. He would not wear clothing that was form fitting for fear of showing how thin he truly was. His long dark hair was pushed back away from his face, held neatly by a ribbon. The mask was in place, covering from above his eyebrows to his upper lip. Although his majestic eyes were hidden from her, she knew them well; the blaze, as well as the ice, they held. It amazed her, the changes his eyes could make all within the space of a breath. They were the color of liquid amber just before it hardens around a steel core.

The mask! She knew what lay under the mask. Christine didn't like to recall the day she had ripped the mask from his face to satisfy her curiosity. Erik had been furious and devastated, and it had taken her hours to calm him down enough so that he could breathe and speak calmly. Yet, she had never feared for her safety. The promises she had made him that day had led to the situation she found herself in now. _Curiosity killed the cat, and now it's killing me!_

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**N/A This is a new story so thank you for joining me in this new reading adventure. Please read and leave a review. **

This Chapter was corrected and reposted thanks to the effort of my beta **Busanda**.

**Black Despair©  
By Susana Martín  
Copyright July 9, 2006  
NYC, USA**


	2. Chapter 2 Restrictions

**Black Despair**©

By Phantasmarose

**Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.**

**Restrictions **

"I have returned the _boy_ to the Opera House" he told her.

"Did anyone find him?" she asked making sure to keep concern out of her voice.

"Did you expect me to wait around?" he asked abruptly turning from her.

She shook her head. Christine hoped he had left Raoul in an area where someone could find him and not up in the rafters or in a utility closet but it was better not to ask. Showing too much interest was dangerous.

"Come, your breakfast is ready" he said, his eyes watched her steadily.

"I'll be there in a moment" Although sad now that she had lost her beloved forever, Christine felt elated because Raoul was now safe. Her sacrifice was not in vain. At this very moment, he might be resting in a comfortable bed, his body enveloped by silk sheets draped over him. How she wished she could be the one to find him and they could then run away from here. She stopped her futile reverie by taking a simple gown from the closet, and putting it over her head. She had not bothered to notice the color, the exquisite material, or the fine lacework on the bodice. The dress fit her perfectly. She wore no corset and with a few strokes from her brush, she was ready for breakfast.

Erik took out a chair for her and she sat at the small table in the kitchen. He placed several full dishes in front of her so she might choose. Christine chose fresh peach, hot bread with butter and jam and a thick slice of meat. She felt his eyes on her but she was used to his doing that and began her meal. Before she was halfway through her meal she noticed, that not only was he not joining her but that there was no place setting for him. "Erik? Are you not joining me?"

"I want you to enjoy your breakfast" with that he marched out of the kitchen and she heard him close the door to his bedroom. _Well, that is one way to get rid of him!_ She suddenly felt ravenous and ate every morsel on her plate.

She sat on the edge of his divan. Erik walked up to it and joined her. He had no idea what to do next. Until that moment all his thoughts, plans, and energies had gone into getting Christine to accept him. Now that she had, what would he do with Christine? He felt totally lost. What direction should he take now?

"We must talk Christine" he did not face her but kept his eyes on the floor. "By choosing the scorpion you chose to be my wife" he reminded her.

"Yes, I know" she stared sideways at his mask. It was black and matte. Whatever material it was made of she remembered it being light. The mask gave him a normal profile. She saw him eye her through the mask's eye hole and look away.

"What a noble sacrifice! I hope he appreciates it." Sarcasm in his voice

"I will keep my promise" she said softly.

"You no longer have a choice in that matter!" he looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"You make it sound like a penance"

"Is it not for you?" he asked

She turned away from him not wanting him to know how much of a sacrifice this was for her. She cared for her Maestro and was grateful he had taken the time to teach her. This more than anything she had done in her entire life would help her career in the Opera House. Now even that was questionable. As her husband he might not allow her to sing in public again, keeping the beauty of her voice for his private enjoyment. As his wife she would have to obey and swallow that bitter pill too. By agreeing to marry Erik she was effectively giving up everything she loved. If he wanted to, if he were kind she might be able to regain some of those loved moments in her life. He would control her life from now on. Having being an orphan for a few years now, control of her life was something she truly valued. On the other hand saving Raoul's life was worth all her losses. If only she could have shared one more kiss with him. One kiss from the man you loved that was all she would have in her lifetime. It did not seem fair.

"Christine?" His voice softer, "I want you to be happy" with a sigh, he faced her and continued, "I…I won't force you". Erik sought her eyes. "I know you accepted me just to save the boy's life…still…I don't want to…well…I want you to feel comfortable…with me"

"What do you mean Erik?" she wondered if this man was expecting a real marriage.

He recognized that if she was to be his wife legally she had to agree to be so in front of a Priest and witnesses. He could intimidate her when they were alone but in front of everyone it would be almost impossible. If she refused to say 'I will' and rejected him publicly he would be devastated and humiliated beyond recovery. The boy would be dead before the end of that day and the grasshopper would have his revenge.

There was only one way to ensure her cooperation. He drew a deep sigh and keeping his eyes from her said, "I will accede to any restrictions you wish to apply to…our union…I…I…would understand"

"What do you expect from me Erik? As your wife I mean" she questioned him earnestly. She had to know his expectations. To what extent would his madness take them?

"I am not sure. I want us to share music, and books. I want to spend time with you, to go out with you. I want to do the same things any other husband would do with his wife." Not once did he look at her. She saw his skin redden around his jaw line.

She held her breath then blurted out, "We can share the same room but I do not wish to be…intimate with you. Ever!"

"I had expected that…who would?" his voice barely above a whisper his eyes lost in the distance.

His answer surprised her, "I thought that intimacy would be your primary goal!"

"You do not know me well, but you will…given time" With his gloved hand he caressed his knee. "I just wanted you to be my wife"

"I can be your wife in every other way…but that would be more than I can bear. You can force me …but it…would not be willing on my part. I'm sorry! I will be your wife and never belong to any other man"

Barely raising his head he muttered "I am a monster but…I…I wouldn't soil you…with my…there's no need for that!" He stood up and walked away from her. He put his hands on the mantle. Erik felt his breath coming in spasms. _How could she think that I would…? _His shame was so palpable that Christine found it difficult to continue.

He had waited so long for this and now…but he understood. The worst part was that in a corner of his heart he had held hope for a completely normal life. How could she want to? She had seen under the mask. The mere memory must make her sick. He would not commit the sacrilege of forcing himself on her even if she was his legal wife. If he did, he would lose whatever affection she still had for her angel of music and would forever lose whatever ground he could make in the future through gifts and promoting her career. To be the Opera House's Prima Donna was something he knew he really wanted even if she barely knew it herself. He would get it for her at whatever cost in time, money, or lives.

"I will abide by your request," he whispered, lowering his head and accepting to her rejection.

"Erik, if you break your promise to my restriction I go free to make of my life as I will. Do you agree?" She held her breath.

"Yes. Anything you want." He straightened up but kept his eyes on the ground. This was perhaps the happiest and most humiliating moment in his life. He was giving up his marital rights because he knew he was too ugly to be allowed to touch his angel when she became his wife.

Hesitatingly she asked, "Do you have any restrictions?"

"No" he answered quickly. Then he thought better and bravely said, "Well, just one…no, two really…you are never to contact that boy again. If you do all restrictions vanish and I will remember my rights and you will not go free"

"I agree…but I can't help it if he seeks me out"

"I will take care of the situation in that case. I won't blame you for his failings"

"What is your other restriction?" She asked candidly.

He took her shoulders and made her face him. "No one is to know"

"What?" she asked looking up at him.

With his terrible face only inches from her own he continued, "No one is to know that I agreed to…let them think we…you are fully my wife. If by chance you should happen to speak to the boy…he especially _he_…is not to know of…our arrangement"

"I see no need to involve anyone else in our affairs" Christine managed to wiggle out from his hands and walked away a few paces.

He might not have her completely but the boy would not even have her visage. That was how Erik reconciled himself to the most degrading contract he had ever entered into. Nothing that he had had to agree to doing in Persia or India, had prepared him for this ignominy. Regardless, Christine would be his wife. A wife, he would have a wife! He felt lucky he had not had to sell his soul like Faust.

"Does your restriction allow for…a…kiss? ...My lips are normal!" he quickly added.

She pitied him and said "Don't be silly Erik" she moved over to him and softly brushed her lips against his, her top lip hitting the mask. He had never meant a kiss on the lips. She had touched her lips to his. _Glory!_ Erik felt perspiration bathe his body and his heartbeat quicken. His knees felt so weak he had to sit down. Now he would beg for crumbs.

After calming down enough to be able to modulate his voice he said, "Your bedroom is yours of course but…would I be allowed to…to sleep in your bed?" _Did I just ask to share angel's bed? Stupid, stupid she would never be able to sleep from disgust alone! _

"Would you want to…knowing that there would be no…outcome?" she looked at him and his eyes reflected his sincere intension.

"I only want…only so…I may hold you. Would you be agreeable to that Christine? I seek some measure of …companionship from my wife. That would be part of it. To hold you and nothing more" His shame was palpable.

Christine saw his dejected figure and could not reject him further. "Then I could not in good conscience deny you that. I promised to be your wife in every way but…but…that."

"Everything is agreed to then" _She agreed, she agreed_! He was ecstatic, sad, and happier than he had ever been. He also felt thoroughly exhausted. It was 11 O'clock in the morning he still had to go through the rest of the day. A busy day was ahead full of wedding preparations.

He got up pushed his shoulders back and sought to recover some of the dignity he had just shed. "Good, then the ceremony will be held within a week" He saw a stunned look on her face. _She thought she had more time my poor darling_.

"We will talk more in the evening when I have made some calculations" he turned and disappeared into his bedroom leaving Christine to absorb the fact that her impending wedding to the Phantom of the Opera would take place in less than 7 days. _One week and then I will be his forever, Oh Raoul!_


	3. Chapter 3 Wedding Bell Blues

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**Chapter 3**

**Wedding Bell Blues**

**A/N: This chapter is a little long but I felt the events belonged together. **

**The beta for this chapter and the previous two is Busanda. This is a this chapter was proofed and reposted thanks to her efforts on behalf of the story.**

Erik paced the small living room in Hafiz's home. "You will wear out my carpets. And don't think I will not charge you." He stopped in front of his friend. "Hafiz, she kissed me!" The Persian looked perplexed. "Oh God, she kissed my lips…," the Persian knew that the girl had seen under the mask and was incredulous of her being capable of doing something like that, "…of her own free will. Now do you see that she cares for me? Do you see that she is willing to marry me?" It was not lost on the Persian that he did not say, "She _wants_ to marry me." He would approach the girl again before the wedding day just to make sure Erik was not forcing her in some manner.

"Hafiz, I am putting this situation in your hands. You pay whom you have to, go above their asking price if need be, but I want to be married to her this very Saturday. I want it legal and binding. There is to be no question in her mind or anyone else's as to the legality and solemnity of the vows we are to take. If possible, get a priest…yes…yes…she would want a priest! Go to a small, run-down parish, one that looks impoverished—the one in Esbly for instance. Even if it is against the rules, I want the ceremony performed in my home." He looked into the Persian's eyes and added with a slight smile, "Offer him enough that the priest is willing to pray for me!"

"Erik!" Hafiz shook his head. It was not his religion, but Hafiz felt the sting of the blasphemy.

"Oh Hafiz, you have lost your sense of humor." He withdrew a bag of coins from his cloak. "Here, whet the holy man's appetite." He walked away and in a barely audible whisper over his shoulder, he said, "He will come if he is hungry enough. Also, I want a photographer; there will be a recording of the event for all ages."

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Father Jules was early. Hafiz saw the old priest hurry down the street holding on to his wide-brimmed hat. He avoided a couple of carriages and managed to cross as quickly as possible. Hafiz noted that even though he was overweight, the priest was quick on his legs. The day before, Erik had been insufferable, going over the minutest detail with him. "Are you sure the priest will come?" "With the amount you are paying him, Father Jules could build a new chapel for his church. Trust me, he will come!" The photographer, a young man in a light-colored suit, was already sitting in the carriage with a blindfold on. Once Father Jules was sitting, Hafiz began to blindfold him as well. Hafiz could have walked them to the Opera House but, as a precaution, decided to take his carriage.

"Surely, you do not believe a man of the cloth would betray you and your associate. Are you of our faith, my son?" asked the old priest, incredulous that anyone would think him capable of treachery. Only on the day he took his vows had he been blindfolded and that was almost 50 years ago.

"No, Sir, I am a Muslim," Hafiz replied as he fastened the blindfold to the priest's head.

"Ah! That is why you doubt me!" Father Jules said.

Hafiz did not answer, but, if Erik, who had been baptized a Catholic, had been in his place, he would have bound and gagged them as well. He did not go straight to the Opera House because the trip would have taken less than five minutes, so he rode around with his guests for another fifteen. They entered through the Rue Scribe entrance. Once past the gates, Hafiz led them through the tunnel entrance that he knew so they could avoid the gondola. Hafiz kept their eyes covered until they reached Erik's house. Erik had not told him to do any of this, but as a former Daroga of Persia, his old profession was in his blood, and doubt in humanity's decency was always foremost in his mind. Perhaps, this was the reason he had never married.

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Christine was getting used to Erik pampering her and meeting her every whim. They had gone to see a seamstress to have the wedding gown made. Erik demanded that the woman stop work on everything else and create the dress of Christine's choice. After much cajoling, he ended up paying the woman an indecent amount for her services and getting exactly what he wanted. When they went to the jeweler's, it was a repeat of the same situation. He wanted custom-made rings, and he wanted them now. The jeweler was convinced and agreed to make the rings in the design that Christine chose. She had to admit that she was in awe of the power Erik could wield over others.

Christine looked in the mirror one more time before she left the room. She had pinned her hair up into a new style that she had seen in the _Époque_, it accentuated her high cheekbones. Small ringlets graced her forehead. Her makeup was natural with just a hint of rouge and lipstick. Meg had helped her into her wedding gown. The dress was ivory silk, and the bodice was embroidered with silver fleurs-de-lis encrusted with lace and pearls. The back of the skirt had a bustle topped by a bow. The tight corset, showed her curves to perfection. Her dress rivaled the one worn by the Empress Eugénie. She dabbed perfume on her wrists and behind each ear. Her jewelry was already in place. She wore pearl, drop earrings and a pearl necklace with a diamond pendant—gifts from Erik. With a swallow, she was ready to fulfill her part of the bargain. Christine allowed herself one more thought of Raoul's dear face. She blocked out all her thoughts and feelings and walked out of her room.

As she stepped into the living area, she saw many stagehands standing around and wondered why they were at her wedding. She knew Erik was a loner and on speaking terms with few people. There was only one explanation. He was unlikely to hurt Hafiz or Madame Giry, but anonymity, she knew, made the workers easily disposable, like Joseph Buquet. She understood that these people were an additional guarantee against her changing her mind.

She continued to look around the room and recognized Madame Giry. Erik must have bought her the dress she wore. She could not imagine Madame Giry owning anything so refined. With her hair done and the fabulous dress, the woman looked respectable, even friendly. Meg, her friend, stood next to her mother. She too wore a lovely gown made of peach silk. A fashionable bustle topped by a bow adorned her back as well. Christine knew that Meg's new suitor had bought her the new gown—Meg had been seeing the Comte Eduard du Veille sur Meux for nearly a month now. _What would Mamma Valérius have worn if she had been able to come?_ Christine felt a sudden sadness because the two people she loved most would not be there on her wedding day. Raoul attending was out of the question, but if Mamma had only been a little better… Christine's thoughts trailed when she noticed a man that she did not recognize. He stood in the shadows, away from everyone else. He was tall like Erik and dressed all in black. There was something peculiar about him, but Christine would not wrack her brain for answers on this day. A young man she did not recognize stood behind a camera—a photographer. Obviously, Erik meant for this ceremony to be recorded. The young photographer caught her eye and winked. She looked away quickly. The young man obviously did not know the danger into which he was putting himself. A quick flash of what happened to Raoul in the torture chamber crossed her mind. The thought was gone with the same ease with which it came. Hafiz stood next to a rotund, older man wearing a rough, brown-cloth tunic with a white stole around his neck. She assumed this was the priest that would marry them. On the right of Hafiz stood Erik, he was standing with his back to her, the straps from his mask visible from behind. She gasped and her heart skipped with the realization that this was it—her wedding to Erik.

He was dressed in dark grey with a gold and grey silk-brocade waistcoat. As she approached him, she thought he looked dashing. His black mask was in place, but she barely noticed. He did not turn around to look at her, and she felt disappointed. When she stood by his side, he barely looked in her direction and grunted something unintelligible. Christine felt he might not love her as much as he said he did. Wouldn't he want to look at her if he did? When they exchanged the rings he had had made for them, she noted that his hands shook to the point that he had trouble putting the ring on her finger. Then, she looked into his eyes and saw his fear as well as all the love he had for her. She saw him close his eyes tightly when it was her turn to answer the priest. His lips were drawn into a taut thin line, his breathing ragged. She did not wish to make him more nervous, so she gave her answers clearly when the priest asked her.

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Erik had refused to turn around when she walked to him. Already, he felt faint and was sure he would have lost his composure had he seen her coming to him to become his wife. He knew his limitations well. They stood in front of the priest. His state of nervousness was such that Erik heard the ceremony more than participated in it. He was able to give all the correct answers when nudged by Hafiz. He was so intent on maintaining control that he was unable to concentrate at all. His thoughts carried him away in a mixture of memories and dreams. He was vaguely aware that she was wearing the dress he'd bought for her. His grip on reality was suspended for the time the ceremony lasted. Once the vows had been said, he visibly relaxed. At last, he heard Father Jules say, "_Ego conjungo vos in matrimonium in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen._" Finally, he, Erik, was married and had a wife just like any man.

A toast followed, and slowly he returned to his world. Christine was his wife. It had happened. It struck him fully that he had a wife for whom he was now responsible. Luckily, he was near a chair and was able to sit down.

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She had assumed this would be a sad day for her, but she found herself enjoying her wedding party. Meg had cornered her, and they had a chance to gossip about the guests like old times. She asked Christine if she was ready for her wedding night. Christine felt her face become impossibly hot and saw Meg giggle. She changed the conversation. _I am certainly not going to tell anyone about our private affairs._ It was the first time she had ever thought of something to do with her and Erik as _ours_.

Christine made sure to remain out in the open at all times. Wherever she went in their home, she always felt his eyes following her. It was not just today but everyday, as long as she had been down here. He did not always make eye contact, but a tiny curl of his lip told her that he was pleased to have located her. This odd habit of his did not bother her anymore, although it had annoyed her to no end at first. It was easier to let him see her at all times than to have him traipsing through the house like a mad bull in search of her.

---------------------------------o

When she asked him who the stagehands were, he shrugged his shoulders. "They work upstairs," was all he volunteered.

"What are their names, Erik? I will need to welcome them."

"You have no obligation to those people, Christine," he answered.

"But surely they have names," she insisted.

"They work in the Opera House that is all. Do not concern yourself." He was beginning to sound annoyed.

"Still…," she insisted.

"They are inconsequential!" he said in a tone that left no doubt that the conversation was over.

Christine let the matter drop, not wanting his temper to get the better of him on that day. She was sure now as to the true purpose of the stagehands. The opera house workers owed their lives to her having answered "I will" during the ceremony.

"Would you like to eat something, Christine?" he asked softly.

"Yes, I would," she smiled at him.

Placing a possessive hand on the small of her back, he led her to a long table with the wedding cake, meats, cheeses, and breads. A variety of wines was available at an adjacent table.

The wedding cake, a croquembouche, was a fine confection of profiteroles, three feet in height, coated with a caramelized-sugar covering. This wonderment was finished with pulled-sugar flowers in ivory and green. Erik fed her one of the puff pastries filled with chocolate-rum crème. Christine had never tasted such a delicious sweet. It was crunchy on the outside, and when her teeth broke through the outer crust, the chocolate-rum crème filled her mouth. Her eyes closed in delight, and watching her, his lips curled into a smile. She reciprocated by also feeding him one of the small pastries. At first, it seemed as if he would refuse, but then he took a small bite. His eyes filled with tears, and he looked away. He served them dry champagne to offset the sweetness of the profiteroles. When they put their glasses down, he kissed the back of her hand before she continued to sample the delicious spread.

Their guests also seemed to enjoy themselves, and the food and wedding cake disappeared. The wine and champagne flowed and dancing started spontaneously when one of the workers took out a harmonica. After a while, Erik could not control himself and joined him on the violin. At one point in the merriment, two of the workers pushed her and Erik together to dance. It was an awkward moment; he stiffened and trembled as he first touched her. Then she felt his strong arms around her pulling her close to him. She felt safe and warm in his arms, yet confused. Christine was amazed that Erik knew how to dance. She had always imagined him as a total recluse not knowing any of the social niceties. They danced for a while until she was out of breath, and then he sat her down and got her a glass of champagne.

The photographer made them stand in several positions. In one photograph, they stood next to each other, his head easily passing hers. In the next one, he sat as she stood just to his left, her hands on his shoulders. As their witnesses, Hafiz and Madame Giry stood with them on still another photograph. Erik insisted on a lone picture of Christine, and so the photographer took her picture standing alone with her bouquet. The last photograph the photographer took was of the entire group—bride, groom, and their guests. As with the dancing, he had stunned her by his willingness to be photographed in his mask.

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A very pretty girl from the group of stagehands came up to Christine and complimented her on her wedding dress. She introduced herself as Mariele, a cleaner. The two girls talked for a while and then in a very confidential tone Mariele whispered in Christine's ear. "They say your new husband's got more money than the managers of the Opera House. He gave you that, didn't he?" she said, pointing to the diamond pendant hanging from the pearl necklace.

"I don't really know what he has or does not.

"This," she touched the jewel protectively, "is a wedding gift."

"That is no regular wedding gift you've got there. I imagine the earrings go with that, too. Not just anyone can give something like that as a present to his bride. But…I suppose he has to from what I've heard about him."

"Why should my husband have to do that, Mariele?" She did not like Mariele's tone or the direction of her conversation.

"I…well, maybe you haven't seen yet. But, those that have say he is ghastly under that mask. A demon! He looks right down disgusting under that thing. I guess you'll see tonight," said Mariele and then with glee added, "I reckon you'll be asking for a few more trinkets from him."

_How can this girl sit here, eat his food, drink his drink, and yet have the nerve to insult him?_ She felt rage fill her and she got closer to Mariele. "Could you repeat what you just said about my husband?" Mariele noticed the change in Christine's tone but repeated what she had said, although the mischief was gone and apprehension filled her voice.

"That is what I thought you said." Christine took the glass of wine the girl was drinking, set it down, and grabbing her by the elbow, walked her to the tunnel entrance. "You are no longer welcome at our wedding. Sit here until you are taken upstairs." She pushed Mariele down.

"But, Madame, it was for your own good. So as you wouldn't be scared tonight," the girl pleaded.

"How I feel tonight or any other night is no concern of yours. I am lucky to be married to the kindest, most generous man I know." Narrowing her eyes, she added, "Make sure you don't move from there." She pointed to the floor as she walked away. She could still feel herself trembling from the rage. She saw Erik talking to Hafiz, he looked relaxed. He looked her way, concern crept into his eyes. She did not want him to know about this incident, so she smiled and joined him, putting her arm through his. The concern in his eyes turned to confusion, but he did not say a word. Hisw eyes stole to Mariele on the floor. Christine made a sign for tipsy and added, "a bit too much champagne". When he was engaged in conversation again, she shot back a warning look at Mariele who cowered in the corner of the tunnel entrance. Christine was unsure why she had reacted that way, but it took a while to have the indignation leave her. She kept looking around the room to see if anyone was giving Erik strange looks. If need be, she was ready to have them join Mariele as fast as they could walk. She could not understand these strange, new, protective feelings she had suddenly developed toward him.

Meg had seen the squabble with Mariele and the outcome. As soon as Christine let go of Erik's arm, she approached her. "What was that?" mischief dancing in her own eyes.

"That stupid girl had the nerve to say some horrible things about Erik." She felt the rage welling up in her again.

"You'll have to expect that Christine…He is a very unusual man."

"I could see a stranger saying something on the street, but she is a guest in his home. He invited her to our wedding!" Christine wailed.

"I didn't know you felt so strongly about him."

"Oh Meg, that is a stupid, stupid thing to say!" Christine stormed off and rejoined Erik, lacing her arm through his once more. He put his hand over hers, and she drew up a little closer seeking his warmth.

Meg shook her head and smiled watching her friend. Despite his war injuries, she would never have problems like that with the handsome comte. There would be no need to defend her secret lover. His family would never allow him to marry beneath his station. All day long she had been watching the way Erik treated Christine, the little attentions, the way his eyes followed her. She felt envious but happy for her friend.

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Christine saw Erik talking to the tall man dressed in black. Their conversation was muted and seemed casual. Erik had not introduced the man to Christine. She had to remember to ask him who that was. Erik handed the man an envelope, which the later quickly put away. She looked around for Meg, found her again, and, despite the upset with Mariele, continued to enjoy her wedding celebration.

Before she left, Meg helped Christine change out of her wedding attire into a more comfortable house dress. Hafiz helped Christine and Erik escort the guests out blindfolded and then helped to clean up. When they were done the three of them sat down to the left over profiteroles and coffee.

"It is done, Daroga!" Erik turned to the Persian. "We are married."

"I came through with my part!" said Hafiz.

Erik snorted. "You will be through when I have those photographs in my hand. Let's see if you hired the right photographer."

"You were very kind to help us, Hafiz." Christine eyed Erik as if to scold him.

The Persian laughed. "You are most welcome, Christine. It was my pleasure. You really could learn some manners from your wife, Erik."

He loved hearing Hafiz refer to Christine as his wife. "Bah! You did nothing that a simple messenger could not do." As grateful as he was, he would not openly admit his immense debt to the Persian.

From the years of their long association, Hafiz knew that Erik felt he owed him. To Erik's dissatisfaction, he might have to pay back that debt one day. "Good to see you are back to your unpleasant self again. You had me worried, acting almost civil during your wedding."

"If you are going to talk your usual nonsense, I will bid you good night then, Daroga." He still felt as if that day's events were not totally real.

Hafiz laughed and having said his farewell to Christine, he turned toward the side tunnel door. Just behind him, he heard Erik mutter, "Damn, I have to block that entrance!" He smiled and continued through the dark tunnel to the Rue Scribe.

**--------------------------------o**

"I had never danced before," he confessed to her when they were alone that night.

"You do it remarkably well," she told him.

"I…I have…something to give you." Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, brown bottle.

"What is that, Erik?" she asked him.

"From what I have read and seen, the only relationships that thrive are those between equals. Right now, I hold the upper hand in our relationship…that is why I was able to force you into this marriage." He saw Christine was about to speak, and he put up his hand. "You married me to save the boy. That is clear. But, you did marry me, and we have to take it from there. It is up to me to reestablish the balance between us. Here!" He handed her the small bottle.

"What is it, Erik?" She turned the bottle over in her hand, but it had no label or other insignia.

"It is a poison. I made it myself during my days in Persia. It is fast acting, tasteless, and odorless." He paced in front of her, stopped, and continued to speak. "Unfortunately, it is painful," he chuckled.

She looked at the bottle in her hand with horror, as if the poison could, through osmosis, destroy her hand.

"You now have the power to kill me, if I should grow mad and become insufferable, use it." He stared deeply into her eyes.

She tried to hand it back to him, hand outstretched with the bottle in her palm. "Here, here…take your bottle back…I will not be a party to your games. You should give me flowers not poison!"

"It is not a game, Christine. And, I will remember about the flowers! You should hide it where only you will know where it is."

"I don't want this at all, Erik. Please take it back!"

"A prosperous marriage needs two equal partners." His eyes grew dark behind the mask.

"Do you expect me to use it, Erik?"

"Good God…I should hope not. But…I…I want you to have some power over me."

"It is not fair to give me a weapon I could never use."

"Trust me, dear, if I hurt you enough, you would use it." He turned to her before he was out the door, "I will return in a few moments when you have made yourself comfortable."

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He returned wearing a thin sleep shirt and dark, loose trousers. Erik lay down on the rug at the side of her bed and stretched out. Christine was brushing her hair.

"That floor must be very uncomfortable. Erik…you may sleep on the bed itself…keeping…our agreement in mind."

"I am fine where I am. It is your company I seek, not comfort," he told her.

"Take one of my pillows then, I have too many." She threw him a fluffy pillow from her bed.

"If it is your wish to part with one…I thank you." He took the pillow and tucked it under his head.

"Good night, Erik," said Christine, turning over ready for sleep.

"Unparalleled," he whispered and checked the mask covering his face.

Erik was delighted to be allowed into Christine's room. She had conceded to let him sleep on her bed, but when he saw her in her nightclothes, brushing her hair, it proved to be too much for him. How could a monster like him sleep in the same bed with someone like her? While asleep, he could by mistake brush against her, offend her! _What was I thinking when I asked that of her? Why did she agree? _Her perfection overwhelmed him. He would sleep on the rug by her side like her faithful dog and guard over her. He had never known a greater joy.

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	4. Chapter 4 Honeymoon Cakes

**Black Despair**©

By Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: The beta for this chapter and the previous three is Busanda. This chapter was proofed and reposted thanks to her efforts on behalf of the story. The original beta was Skeleton Horse, to whom I am also grateful. **

**A special thank you to: my wonderful reviewers. To my readers: I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for reading, and please leave a review if you can,**

**Chapter 4 **

**Honeymoon Cakes**

Erik wanted to keep the mask on while he was in Christine's room. From experience, he knew that if he wore the mask for too long it would irritate his sensitive skin, bringing all sorts of annoying ailments with it. Since Christine had come to live with him, he had kept it on all day, and the irritation was beginning to show. That morning, his skin felt warm, and in some areas a fine rash was beginning to develop. He could feel welts forming where the edges of the mask touched his flesh. If he kept it on tonight, his eyes would swell, making the deformity visible through the eyeholes. He waited until she was asleep, and then he removed it. The cool air felt wonderful against his ravaged flesh. This was the first time in over a day that his face was free from its prison. He placed the mask carefully on his chest, his hand ready to place it back on if Christine should awake from her slumber.

Erik had his masks made by the finest leather craftsman in Paris. Cost was never an issue when it came to the quality of craftsmanship he expected. They were made of kid leather, so fine, that it adhered perfectly to his unique facial contours. The leather in the mask was made of varying thicknesses and firmness. The area of the forehead, eyeholes, and cheeks were the thinnest and most pliant, while the leather forming the nose was thick and hard. He secured it with straps that buckled behind his head.

The mask had been his shield against the world's cruelty. It had protected him and saved him from unimaginable physical abuse. It had hidden his greatest shame, his face. As much as he could not say he loved the mask, it was the one constant in his life that had done him nothing but good. Now, as unbelievable as it was to him, he was married to a beautiful woman. A woman who had seen what he hid under the mask and still agreed to marry him instead of choosing to die. When the incident with the torture chamber occurred, he had expected her to refuse him. He was ready to destroy the world he was living in, to destroy them both if she refused to be his wife. Miraculously, having Christine at his side had erased all thoughts of violence from his mind. He felt content and at peace with himself. His thoughts turned to books and songs they could share and outings they might undertake. He had a wife, the most precious gift life had ever bestowed on him, and he would protect it. Carefully, he returned the mask to his face before he fell asleep.

sss sss sss sss sss

Three weeks had passed since their wedding, and they had settled into a comfortable routine. After he made her breakfast, she would enter the kitchen and begin making her patisseries, and he was not allowed back in until she was done. Afterwards, he would reclaim the kitchen for the preparations of the midday meal and then would disappear into his bedroom. Christine had never been invited to enter that room, and Erik always locked the door. She sewed during the time that he left her alone. Christine checked her wardrobe and made the necessary repairs on her garments. She even convinced Erik to give her some of his clothes. He had, what was to her, the deplorable habit of discarding his damaged garments and replacing them with new ones. Christine had always hated darning with Mamma Valérius, but now she welcomed anything that would keep her busy. She made sure to keep both of their wardrobes in proper condition. Everyday, she left herself enough free time to write in her journal. Her life was not as eventful as it had been before she married Erik, now she filled the pages with her thoughts and feelings rather than events. The late afternoon and evening were spent together in the library reading or sharing music. It was a period of peace during which no ground was lost or gained in the marriage.

Needing to occupy herself in the mornings, Christine came up with the idea of making her own S_alon du Thé._ She took it upon herself to prepare them a small meal in the afternoon. Christine began by pouring each of them a steaming cup of fragrant tea, usually jasmine or mint. She would then dish out her freshly made patisserie-fruit tarts, cookies, or small, delicate cakes. Everything was made tiny so that he would have no problem eating with his mask on. Sometimes she would vary their drink and serve hot chocolate or coffee. Erik drank and ate what she provided with equal appetite.

Erik had not objected to sharing this meal since it did not take place at the table, but instead she served it in the library, and it functioned as a prelude to their nightly ritual of reading there. His favorite teatime tidbit was her molasses cookies. She could not make them often enough. He even took to raiding her cookie tin, looking for the tasty morsels at other times. Before Christine came to live with him, he could easily go an entire day without eating. His cooking skills were adequate, but when she began to make these light meals for them, he would not miss even a moment or allow a scrap to be wasted. His stomach would actually growl if her tea was even a tad late. He got so used to the routine that he would stand just inside his door, waiting for her to call him. On those days when he could not control himself, he paced in the library, an unseen frown on his face, until she came in with the delectable patisseries.

sss sss sss sss sss

She couldn't accuse him of being obsessive about keeping her company—as a matter of fact, she rarely saw him except at the appointed times. Christine was used to constant contact with other people. She was accustomed to the continual sharing and camaraderie of the opera performers. She was sure that Erik was doing his best to be sociable, but it was not enough for her. Christine was beginning to feel lonely. She missed her long talks with Meg. Since she had come to the Opera House, Meg had befriended her and had become her confidant. The chorus girl and the ballerina found they had many things in common, principally their love for opera, performance, and big dreams for their futures. They had also shared a penchant for keeping company with the noblemen who frequented the Opera House.

Christine appreciated that Erik was kind and civil, more so than most husbands. She cared for him and was grateful for his musical instruction, but she was not in love with him. She could not share her girlish thoughts with him because he would not understand them. She could not share her dreams because these had been shattered. All she could share with him was their mutual love for music and an unsure future as his wife.

Christine could not complain about their life without feeling awash in guilt. Many married women would have gladly traded places with her just to be treated with the deference with which Erik treated her. They would have traded places if the mask had not been an issue!

Christine no longer thought of Erik as a madman but had reverted to thinking of him as her benefactor, her Angel of Music. His tone and manner still frightened her at times, but she was getting used to his ways. She acknowledged him in his role as her husband, and she would not wish to be disloyal to him. Yet she could not help her thoughts turning to Raoul. She wished that there were some way for her to see Raoul again, or send word to him. She did not intend to betray Erik, but her mind constantly rummaged through myriad possibilities for a brief contact with her beloved. She needed to get up to the Opera House. For days now, she had wondered if she should ask Erik, if it was not too soon. She had to find a way to ask him that would not arouse his suspicions.

Erik's life or death ultimatum a month before had forced her to give up a conventional life, a life with a husband of her own choosing. She had given up having children and the intimacies of marriage to save the life of the man she loved. After her monumental sacrifice, Christine felt she deserved a smidgeon of normalcy in her life. She wanted to be surrounded once in a while by people _she_ loved. She missed the light, she missed Mamma Valérius, she missed her friend Meg, and most of all she missed Raoul. Dear sweet Raoul, so willing to challenge his noble family for his right to marry the woman he loved. Their encounters had been brief, but each one had drawn their hearts closer. She had been sure that they were meant to be together for a lifetime. Now she was married, legally married and in the eyes of God. How could she contemplate meeting with a man other than her husband? Would the same God that had sealed her marriage vows damn her for loving another? Regardless, she had to see Raoul.

As she sat in the library with her husband, Christine could not keep her mind from thinking about Raoul. She pondered over what to say to Erik, while at the same time she despised herself for her duplicitous thoughts.

"Erik, I want to go home," she told him, desperation vivid in her voice.

"You _are_ home, dear," he answered, noting her referral to "home" as being away from the cellars. This annoyed him, but he decided not to mention it.

"I mean my home with Mamma Valérius and up there in the Opera House," she said, pointing up.

"Is this not your home now, Christine?" He could feel his temper beginning to simmer.

"Yes, Erik, of course it is, but I have loved ones I wish to see. I miss Mamma Valérius terribly, and I really should be checking on her more often."

"You know I have taken care of that. She has fine nursing care."

"It is not the same, Erik. She must miss me."

"We will see about a visit sometime soon."

"That would be just fine, Erik. May I visit with my friend, Meg?"

He whipped around to face her. Danger emanated from him. His body was poised to strike.

"Now, we are getting to what you really want, little Christine Daaé! You want to go up to see him, don't you?" he growled. Erik walked closer to her and in a lower voice added, "Shame, shame, shame! Using the Giry child to cover your longings for the vicomte!"

"No, Erik. I really want to see Meg," she pleaded.

"Liar!" he spat at her, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"Erik, please!" Christine wanted to back away, but she knew that would feed his rage. _I must not act like prey, or he will devour me._

"You are my wife. You have no business running around an opera house!" he yelled.

_The same opera house where you found me! _Her own temper was beginning to flare. "I am your wife, Erik, but I have a right to see the light, to have friends!"

"Friends? Is that what the boy is to you now? A friend!" He began to circle her, his face menacingly close to hers.

"He is nothing! I don't even know if he is still in Paris," she said, too quickly.

"Is that what you want to go up to find out?" He looked down at her with disdain.

"Do you yearn for your lover? For his hands?" he taunted her.

Christine tried to keep her voice steady and calm. "Erik, I want to go above for a little while."

He ignored her words. "You married this monster, but you yearn for _his_ pretty face, don't you, my precious wife?"

"I…I…just want…to see my friend, Meg." Tears stung her lids, but she would not cry in front of him, not when he was like this.

"I am the only one you should need to see…me…me…your husband!" he ranted.

"All I wanted…," she continued.

"All I wanted…," he mimicked her.

"Never mind, Erik…forget it." She turned away in resignation.

He suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her. She tried to move back, but he held fast to her skirts. His voice was barely above a whisper, "Did you know…this…monster…has…wants, too?"

"Erik, I do not deny you have wants…and…you are _not_ a monster," she responded.

"But, you…you…withhold your…love." His eyes, cooling now, held hers.

She had to look away. She could hear the agony, the need in his voice, and it tugged at her heart. "I…I am doing my best, Erik…We are just getting to really know each other…I need time."

"Time? Time…and then you will love me? Time! I will give you time…if that is what you need. Swear you will love me then, Christine, swear it!" He buried his face in her skirts and began to sob. They were quiet, discreet little sobs, as if she were not supposed to hear.

"We are married. I will always be with you…but…please…please, Erik, get up from there." She looked down on him and saw his shoulders shaking.

"And, you will love me as a good, _faithful _wife should?" he asked her, his voice muffled in her skirts.

"I will not forget my vows!" she said with all the sincerity she could muster.

"Taken before a priest, remember?" he reminded her, tugging at her skirts, not budging from his knees.

"I remember…Erik. But, when am I to be allowed out? I want to see sunlight," she insisted.

In a flash, he was on his feet again and stood towering over her, his eyes wide and blazing. "Not the boy, not the light!" he shouted, closing in on her.

He pointed to his mask, "This…this is what your future holds. Only this!" She gasped at his words and ran. He took her reaction to mean she was still afraid of his face.

In a pained, cold voice, he called after her, "You will _never _see the surface light again!"

Christine ran into her room, slamming the door. He ran after her and put his ear to the door. He heard her open a drawer, a rustling of papers, and then heard a deep sigh. This was not how he wanted things to be between them. If only she would forget the damnable vicomte! He left and went to his music room.

sss sss sss sss sss

Erik sat slumped on the piano bench, his hands hovering over the keys. Slowly, he began to play. The old instrument, like its owner, was used to ill treatment. All night, Erik pounded on the keys, punishing the piano, trying to calm himself. He played hard, in violent bursts, repeating the same pieces over and over again.

She heard him play out his anguish and misery on the piano. The music lulled her into a nervous stupor. On and on he played; and then, a few minutes past midnight, she heard a discordant chord and the music suddenly stopped. She came out of her room and made her way to the music room. He was gone. His gloves lay on the piano bench. It broke her heart to see red smears on the ivory keys. His poor hands! Erik! She knew the pads of his fingertips were as delicate as the skin on his face. In order to avoid injury to his hands, he _had _to wear gloves to play. All evening she heard him beseeching her through his music, and she hadn't thought to come out and soothe his pain, thinking only of her wounded pride, of his claim to her, and her loss of liberty. All she needed to have done was to have sat on the bench with him. With compassion in her heart now, she made her way to his room.

Christine knocked on his door. No answer. Again, she tried, and, when no answer came, she pushed the door open. The room was dark, except for the flicker of one almost-extinguished candle. Christine wasn't sure what she would do if he were inside the coffin, or how she would react to the sight. Still, she slipped into the darkness. Erik sat hunched over on a chair on the far side of the room, rocking himself, his hands covering his unmasked face.

"Get out!" he yelled.

"Erik, your hands!" She walked up to him, looking at his bloody fingertips as they clung to his face.

"Leave me alone. Go back to your room," he responded, without moving.

"No, Erik, I will not go away. You hurt your hands. Come…please," she insisted as gently as she could.

"I'm not wearing…my...," he sounded weary.

"I know." She remembered the horror of his face, but this was not the time to think of that.

"I must find it." He looked disinterestedly around his room.

"Not now." She stroked his hair.

He sighed heavily and lowered his hands, his face turned away from her. He slowly pressed to a stand.

"Come, Erik," her voice sure and strong.

She took his hand and led him out to the kitchen. Christine worked quietly and quickly, washing his hands and wrapping them in clean bandages. Erik sat with his head hanging, all emotion and strength drained from him. Finally, she dabbed at his face to clean the blood off. When she was finished, she met his naked face, looked into his eyes and asked, "Keep me company?" making it sound more like a statement than a question. Erik followed her to her bedroom. He curled up on his rug and immediately fell sleep. Christine covered him with a light throw. She watched him sleep, grateful to have this opportunity to get used to his face. Even relaxed in sleep, it was appalling. His skin was so thinly stretched against the bone it gave the appearance of a withering skull. It was abysmal, but it no longer frightened her. As she fell asleep, the last image in her mind was his face. She slept peacefully.

sss sss sss sss sss

During the afternoon teatime, she leaned back in her chair. Christine brought the cup to her lips and took a sip of sweet tea. She took a bite of her tiny glazed pear tart; a smile graced her lips as she recalled their conversation during breakfast that morning.

His shirt sleeves still rolled up from cooking breakfast, he stood nearby as she ate.

"Christine?" His voice sounded unsure, testing.

"Yes, Erik?"

"If you'd like, I'll take you up today." He cleared his throat.

"I'd like that, Erik." Her heart skipped a beat, but she managed to put another piece of toast in her mouth and chewed slowly.

"Would it be agreeable to have your tea first?" He tried to sound casual.

"Certainly, I can make an extra dozen of the molasses cookies you like and take it to them." She saw the narrowing of his eyes. _Am I allowed to make those only for him? Keep the peace, Christine! _"Actually, I do enjoy only making those cookies for you, so I'll make them something else. What do you think?"

"It would be best to keep your special recipes at home."

The mask covered some of his smile, but Christine could tell it was broad. His eyes sparkled in the eyeholes._ He can be so obvious!_ She shook her head softly.

Erik got up, kissed her forehead, and took the last two molasses cookies from the tin with him.


	5. Chapter 5 Visits, Visits, Visits

**Black Despair**©  
by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, Philippe, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: I am vacationing in Florida for the next three week but I expect to continue updating regularly since I have my laptop and chapters with me. Please review, it always incites me to write more. Thank you to all my wonderful readers, and reviewers. **

**Visits, Visits, Visits**

The sound of footsteps alerted Raoul to the presence of a visitor. He brought the sheet up to his chin. "Are you awake?" Philippe asked as he entered the darkened room. "Oh, it's you, come in!" Raoul relaxed. "I thought it was that…" he stopped to catch his breath, "that nurse you sent me." Talking fatigued him. He closed his eyes, and took a few slow breaths.

"A beautiful woman is taking care of you, and you complain! Only you little brother," Count Philippe laughed. The confident, masculine sound filled the room. He was impeccably dressed as always. Philippe was a handsome man in his mid 40's, with exacting tastes, and a lifetime of having those tastes satisfied. His concern for his brother was evident in his eyes. He touched Raoul's brow. "Good you are still cool."

"Philippe, have you seen her?" Raoul looked to his brother, his eyes beseeching him for a positive answer.

"No, you know I go regularly to the Opera, but nothing." Philippe had been making discreet inquiries about the chorus girl. He had come up with rumors, but no clear answers. Some people claimed to have seen her give herself in marriage to the Ghost. Others claimed to have seen her enter a carriage bound for England. There were even those, who swore they had seen her body having lifeless from the rafters. He did not tell his brother any of the gruesome stories.

"Have you questioned…" again he run out of breath and had to wait for his weakened lungs to take in air again, "her friend Meg?"

"Meg, the ballerina… of course! I will look for her this week." Philippe got up to leave. He smiled at Raoul with a tranquil look on his face, hiding his worry. "This week, I promise," he said facing Raoul. "Now, take it slowly, and get better." With a frown on his brow, Philippe patted his brother's shoulder, and left the room.

----------------------------o

Christine took the covered basket Erik offered her as they approached Meg's room. She felt him caress her cheek with his gloved hand. As it left her face, she missed its light touch. Christine turned to ask him how much time she had to spend with Meg- he had disappeared into the shadows. All she could hear was the eerie rustle coming from his cloak. She stared into the dark empty hall, hoping to see some proof of his existence. There was none. She had no reason to feel abandoned, but she did. Quickly, she knocked on Meg's door.

The two girls sat at the edge of Meg's bed. Meg looked at her friend curiously. "Christine? Why do you smile like that?"

"I am so happy to be here, Meg. I have missed you," she said looking around the room. A big grin was still evident on her face. Everything was so familiar, the overstuffed cupboard, the pink damask bedcover, even Meg's messy dresser. The two girls sat on the bed facing each other. They both felt a little shy. The balance in their friendship had changed, Christine was now a married woman while Meg continued to be a ballet rat. They sat a little stiffly on the edge of the bed.

"Was it hard convincing him to let you come up? Meg took a dainty handkerchief, and wiped her nose. "Sorry I have a bit of a cold."

"No, he offered this morning," Christine answered then looking at her friend, "your nose _is_ a little red."

"And he wasn't afraid you would run into…" Meg's eyes widened just a little.

"Well, he did come with me… but anyway, we're married," Christine smiled broadly.

Meg took the tray and put the tea service on the bed. She served each of them a cup. A plate of Christine's lemon puffs sat between. She saved for guests anything she made with that fruit, since Erik was not partial to lemons. Meg took a pastry in her mouth.

Christine noticed that the sunlight coming through the window was beginning to wane. Next time she would ask him if they could come up earlier so she could enjoy the sun's rays longer. She felt Meg touch her arm. "Christine! These are delicious! Since when did you learn to cook?"

"I still don't know how to cook, but I'm learning to make patisserie."

"You have a talent for it Christine. This is really good," said Meg reaching over for a second puff.

"Erik loves all my pastries. Actually, he has become quite possessive with some of them. I am to make them only for him!" She laughed.

"Oh my, if your pastries have your husband so in love with you, then you have to teach me how to make them!" Meg giggled.

The two girls sat back quietly, and basked in each other's company while sipping their tea, and sharing the sweets Christine made. Nothing intrinsic had changed between them.

"And the Vicomte have you heard from him?" Meg asked in a hushed tone.

Her heart beat faster at her friend's mention of Raoul. "No. How could I hear from anyone when I live in the bowels of the earth itself?" Christine sighed slowly.

"Are you unhappy…living down there?"

"No, not really, not unhappy, but I miss my life here." She looked down at her hands. Tears blurred her vision.

Meg's hand flew up to her mouth. "Christine! He…he does not beat you. Does he?

"No, no! Why would you ask that?"

"He is so very different… from other men. I mean…he wears that mask all the time and lives underground. My Mom does say he's always done right by her."

"Erik would never hurt me! He is incapable of hurting me like that. He is a good husband to me…really. He cooks our main meals. We read together and play music. He has the most wonderful voice. And we talk Meg. He wants to know my opinion about anything really! No one has taken care of me as he has, since my father passed," she said her voice dwindling as the memory came to her.

"You are lucky. No man has ever asked my opinion on anything! I hear so many stories…It makes me wonder, if I should ever marry, what my life would be like… but then why the tears?"

Another tear escaped and she furiously wiped it away shrugging her shoulders. She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

"Meg I have a letter. Would you…would you pass it to…Raoul?"

"Christine! Do you think it is wise?" Meg looked uncertain.

"I need to let him know I am well…in person." She wrung her handkerchief in her hands.

"This is a dangerous thing you wish to do…I don't know…"

"Please Meg, you must…it's all I have." She begged her friend.

"I…I…what if your husband finds out?" Meg feared for her friend. Erik could kill Christine if he caught her with another man, and no court would deny him his right to defend his honor. If he found out she had helped, well, she would have to leave the Opera House.

"I will die, if I don't see Raoul ever again." She twisted and wrung her handkerchief.

"Erik might kill you if _he_ finds out. You… you aren't thinking of…you just couldn't Christine you're married by the Church!" said Meg never uttering the word 'adultery', except in her mind.

"Oh! It is not that at all, Meg. I just wish to say a proper good-bye."

"Why would you risk your marriage just to contact the vicomte?" She moved closer to Christine and whispered in her ear. "Do you still love Raoul?"

"I don't know." Christine couldn't meet her friend's eyes. She wasn't sure what she felt for either men. A few weeks ago, she had been so sure of her love for Raoul. Now, she was so used to her new life, that she found herself thinking less often about Raoul.

"You mean you love them both? Christine!" Meg's eyes widened, she was in shock at her dear friend's unexpected confession.

Christine had never thought she might love Erik as a man. In the past few weeks, they had grown close. She no longer recoiled from his touch. Christine had learned Erik's tastes, likes, and dislikes, and could gage his reaction to most incidents in the home. He was difficult, but she knew him and she wanted to please him. Most important she knew what the mask hid and it no longer shocked her. Meg eyed her strangely, Christine noted.

"If you were separated from your Count…"

"It's not the same. I know we will not amount to anything. He is not like the vicomte. He would not antagonize his family or risk his position for me," she said sadly.

"Do you love him?" Christine insisted.

"Yes, but I know he is not for me. I just know it." A tear rolled down Meg's left cheek. She wiped it off and laughed "Silly me crying over nonsense." She took the letter from Christine's hand and put it in her waistband.

"I will give the vicomte your letter," she said. Tears still glistened in her eyes but she blinked them away.

"Thank you!"

The two women embraced. Meg pulled back and held both of Christine's hands, a serious look on her face. "Christine, did you hear? Two of the stage hands that went to your wedding are dead?"

Christine gasped. Her thoughts jumped to the last moments at her father's side. The mere mention of death always took her back to that moment. She frowned a little and shook her head to rid herself of the memory.

Meg continued, "Jean and Pietro where killed three nights ago. Someone found their bodies in the gutter."

"How awful," Christine shivered, "and Pietro's wife just had another baby last summer."

"That is awful, a widow with five mouths to feed. At least my Mom just had to worry about me. She already had this job, and a relationship with Erik. I assure you we did not go wanting."

"Most widows are not as lucky." She had been lucky too. After her father's death, Mama Valerius had taken over her care. There were no extras, but she, like Meg, had never wanted for food and shelter.

"To think the last time I saw those two…they seemed to be having such a good time…" She remembered the two men drinking and laughing at her wedding. Pietro had been the one to push her and Erik together so they would dance. He was one of those people who needed to have everyone around them happy and having fun. Who would want to hurt fun loving Pietro? This news put a damper on her visit

Christine didn't get to finish her sentence. Mm. Giry and Erik came into the room. "Faust is bound to be successful. You could wait until it ends its run…" said Mm Giry. Erik nodded. "I suppose I should practice patience in that too."

Noticing Christine's flushed appearance, Erik turned his attention to her. "Are you alright my dear?" He eyed her crumpled handkerchief but did not mention it.

"Erik, two of our wedding guests are dead, isn't that just awful."

"Are they?" He gave Meg a brief glance. The ballerina would not meet his eyes.

"One is that young boy, Jean, the one who got drunk, and the other one is Pietro. His wife just had their fourth child."

"I see." He put his arm around her waist," you really must not let these things upset you, my love."

"Meg, why did you tell her?" Madame Giry pulled her daughter up by the wrist her face twisting with displeasure. "You do love your gossip don't you girl?" Madame Giry eyed Erik, and bit her lip nervously, "you've done enough damage for one day go do your practices now"

"I'm sorry Maman, I'm sorry Chris…" Meg looked from one to the other embarrassed.

"Go now!" Mustering all the strength of her wiry body, she pushed her daughter out the door. meg nearly crashed into the opposite wall. "These young girls do love their gossip…I'm sorry she upset you Christine," she said eyeing Erik again.

"I am fine Madame Giry. I just feel sorry for the widow."

"All this unpleasantness is nothing for you to worry about." He took her shawl, and carefully placed it on her shoulders. He placed his arm around her waist again. "We will take our leave now."

"Well, yes I suppose." She gave Madame Giry a kiss on her withered cheek. "Thank you for having me I…"

"Come Christine, we must leave." He steered her past the older woman without saying another word.

---------------------------o

On reaching their home, Christine turned on Erik.

"Why were you rude to Madame Giry? She asked.

"Rude?" Erik repeated her word. "I thought I was quite restrained. In lieu of the circumstances…"

"What circumstances? The poor woman looked scared for her life." She insisted.

She felt him lightly place his hands on her shoulders. She enjoyed his touch and thought back to her conversation with Meg. Christine felt warmth rush to her cheeks. She needed to keep on talking, hoping he would not associate her blush with his touch.

"You really must take these morbid thoughts out of your head." He chuckled.

She stared at him, straight in the eyes, her chin jutting out. She did not say another word. _Does he want the Giry door closed to me so I would not need to go up again?_

He enjoyed her lack of fear. Christine did not fear him as most people did. He had seen large men turn pale at a whiff of him. It was amusing to see her small frame stand square to his much larger one. _Is she challenging me? _

"Would you like a cup of tea?" He smirked. Erik licked his lips and stared at her pursed lips. She was wearing red lipstick. He wanted to feel her sweet moist lips under his. His sudden desire startled him. These thoughts and longings had to be squelched. As they always had been. He had married her, yes, but there was not, even the most remote possibility, that he would ever make Christine fully his. "I will go put the water on." He turned on his heels, and moved away from her.

--------------------------------------------o

Erik sat on the chair in her room watching her. She lay on the bed engrossed in her novel. Even thou he had slept there since their wedding, he always referred to it as _her _room. For Erik, it was an unprecedented privilege to be able to sleep near her, to sit by her, as she went about her with her daily living. He had never shared this level of intimacy with anyone before. It was wonderful to be able to gaze at her when she was relaxed. Unfortunately, he had to disturb her peace. He cleared his throat in an attempt to call her attention. She looked up from her book.

"Christine, my love, I have a favor to ask of you. Please remain in your room while I conduct business with an… associate." His eyes rested on her as he spoke.

"Why can't I meet your business partner?" She asked.

"Not today my love. This person is not my business partner, no not at all. We are concluding business. It is nothing you should concern yourself with. Stay here and continue to enjoy your book." He said.

"Who will serve the refreshments then?" Christine felt it was her job. As his wife, she ought to welcome anyone he brought home. She enjoyed the compliments she received for her refreshments. It no longer felt strange to think of herself as his wife.

A dry laugh, then, "there will be no…refreshments, dear."

"But, Erik how can you have a guest over, and not offer them a drink?"

"This is not a guest, just someone." He stood up and began to pace. He did not wish to upset her, but he would not yield on this issue.

"What will they think of me? Who is this mysterious person that comes to our home, but is not a guest?" She asked, not backing down.

"You are too curious for your own good, my love." He noted, with delight that she had said, "our home." He could barely believe that someone, albeit his wife, was questioning his decision, and he was explaining himself, and giving excuses. Nor could he believe that he did not feel his temper rising. He loved the peaceful coexistence they shared, and would have given a thousand explanations to keep her pleased.

"It is not that. I just don't like to be excluded." She gave him a sad look.

"Trust me, Christine, this is a necessity." Except for the time, he spent alone composing; he now hated doing things that did not include her.

"I promise I will not leave my room." She smiled and turned back to her book.

"Thank you dear." Erik bent over and kissed her forehead before leaving the room.

A few moments later, she heard the click of her door lock. Christine got up to check. He had locked her in! It did not surprise her. She could complain about his lack of trust in her, but maybe he too was beginning to know her. She could not have stopped herself; she would have peeked. She went back to her book.

Christine looked through the keyhole in her door but only saw a flash of black pass by her door. She kept her ear to the door.

"Erik!" a deep unfamiliar voice greeted her husband.

"Count it!" Erik answered.

"I trust you," said the voice.

"You should. But, I do not trust you! Count it in front of me." Erik commanded.

She heard the sound of coins dropping. "It's all there." The voice said tiredly.

"Of course it is." Erik's voice sounded strained.

"Don't I even get a cup of coffee?" the voice teased Erik. She knew it, the guest did expect something to drink!

"No. We are done" Erik's dismissive voice ended the conversation.

A cackle came from the voice. "You are a tough one Erik. Indeed you are."

She heard two sets of footsteps walk away. One set approached her door. Her door clicked again. Christine flew back to her bed, and tried to look composed. She buried her face in her book. She heard a soft knock on the door.

"All done! It is a good thing our guest did not want for anything… right Christine?"

Slowly she looked up from her book. "How would I know, Erik? Am I a mind reader?" she answered.

"No, my love, of course not… but you are a good listener," he smirked.

She felt heat envelop her face. "Oh, do stop teasing me, Erik!" She put her book down and grabbed him by the hand, leading him out the room. "Come on, let us go sing!"

Erik let himself be pulled. Gladly, he would become her marionette. So long as she was, close enough to pull his strings, he would gladly remain under her spell.

-----------------------------------------o

**A/N:** Tomorrow I head for the Everglades. I will spend the week there kayaking through the mangroves. I did that two summers ago in Key Largo, but was interrupted by Hurricane Charlie. If the crocs and gators don't get me I will post again next weekend.


	6. Chapter 6 Meals and Books

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: I apologize to my readers for not updating on time last week. It seems Internet connection is not a priority in the Everglades, and I found myself offline. I did have a good time even without access to e-mail or Since I couldn't post I did make the chapter a little longer. Please remember to read and review. I love hearing what my readers think of the characters, and the story so far. A special "Thank you" to my beta, Skeleton Horse, for making this a better chapter. We finally reconnected!**

**Chapter 6 Meals and Books**

Erik made Christine her favorite breakfast: an omelet with onions, tomatoes, diced potatoes, and mushrooms, and toast with a thick wedge of Camembert cheese melted on top. That morning, he had been out just after dawn so he could be the first customer in the produce store. He could always count on the proprietor, Madame Rémy, for her service and discretion.

Madame Rémy had been supplying provisions for the masked man for over a decade. At first, she had thought him handsome. He had regular features, and beautiful amber eyes framed by thick lashes. He covered most of his face with a hat, and pulled up the lapels of his cape. He wore his hair gathered in a ribbon on his neck. Months later, she realized that what she had taken for handsome features was in reality a flesh colored mask. Every two weeks, for the past ten years, he came in and purchased the same items in exactly the same amounts, with no deviation. Then, two months earlier, he had begun to buy different items in varying quantities: mushrooms, spices, sugarcane, pink hair ribbons, and roses by the dozen. When she questioned the change, he made a sound that sounded like a laugh, and told her he was now married. She had never heard the man laugh, nor had she even seen him smile before that day. Madame Remy wondered about the woman who married her strange customer; however, she did not wish to embarrass him, so she simply congratulated him, and asked him for his order. He was the only one of her customers who did not haggle over prices, and occasionally even tipped her.

Erik pulled the chair out for Christine, and she took her seat at the small table. As usual, there was only one place setting. She chose a fresh pear from a fruit basket, cut it into small chunks, eating the pieces with her hands. He leaned on the sink, chuckling quietly as he watched her eat. The rest of her breakfast was still in the oven. She looked up to see him peering at her from the behind the mask eyeholes. He was dressed in his usual black pants and white button down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing a soft, dark down on his forearms: his broad shoulders tapered down to lean hips. Even though thin, he was an imposing figure. _Too thin! If he would only let me, feed him properly._ _I'd have him filling his clothes._ She smiled up at him, and continued to eat heartily.

She looked up again, and asked, "Erik, why don't you ever eat with me?"

He sighed, and adjusted his mask. "As a child, I was never allowed to go near the table when my parents were eating, " he said in a flat emotionless tone.

She was appalled. "Why not?" She feared the answer to her question.

"I have told you how disgusted my parents were… by…by… my face," he said, pointing in the direction of the mask.

"But, where were you supposed to eat?" she asked, facing him, and putting down her fruit.

"In my room…I always ate alone in my room." He looked away from her, the old emotions seeping into his heart. "I tried sitting at the table once, but I got such a beating for it that…well…I have never sat with anyone to eat again." He turned to check the oven. Christine sat forward as he put the omelet and toast in front of her. "Go on, eat!" He said roughly. His father had almost killed him that day. The beating had been so severe; he could not walk for over a week, and had to crawl about his room like a reptile. His eyes closed for a moment. He grabbed the back of one of the chairs tightly until his fingers hurt. Controlled pain always helped. He managed to shove the old feelings back into their hidden place. Her voice brought him back.

She noticed how tense he seemed when he closed his eyes. "That is terrible." Her eyes watered, and she covered his hands with her own. "You were only a child." She remembered some of the stories he had told her before they fell asleep at night. She listened to his stories, but she could not fathom such cruelty coming from a mother or father. _When I have a child, I am going to love…_ She stopped, remembering that in agreeing to marry Erik, she had given up motherhood in the same breath that she gave up her freedom. Did she want a child? Christine had never thought of herself as a mother before that moment. In her mind, she had always been the daughter. Would she ever want to be a mother?

Lost in memories, he continued. "It was the disgusted look in her eyes… that hurt the most." His eyes looked far beyond the kitchen walls into the still vivid past. Since his birth, his mother had been disgusted by his deformity. She had avoided looking at him as much as she could, but sometimes she would pat his head and feed him a sweet. She had never beaten him as his father regularly did. _Mother did not stop the beatings, she couldn't, she was a small delicate woman. How could she fight a man as large as Father? Mother always tended to the wounds he inflicted on Erik._ He was certain that she loved him in her own way. "Erik!" Christine pulled on his sleeve. He looked confused.

What he had gone through, no child should ever suffer, especially for something that was not his fault in any way. His face had ruined any chance at having a normal childhood. _No! His face wasn't at fault. They should have loved him, despite any imperfection._ If she had a child that wasn't perfect, there would be nothing in the world that would stop her from loving him or her, and protecting it. Again, that thought, she had told him she would never have his child. That was their agreement, a marriage with no intimacies and no children. _Why do I keep thinking about this? Am I regretting it?_

Her own parents had been so very loving. They had been dead for years, yet, she yearned to see them, to talk to them. Even Meg, brought up by the strict Madame Giry, had never been mistreated. As for herself, she remembered occasionally deserving a punishment, but no one had ever raised a hand to hurt her. Her father's favorite method of discipline had been to make her sit reading on the porch, alone. She had hated missing out on the household events.

She could not erase the frown from her brow or the heaviness from her heart. She took her hands from his. His knuckles had gone white as he gripped the chair. "I hate to eat alone, Erik, would you eat with me?" She tried to coax him.

"No!" His voice said in a menacing tone. His mask almost covered the entire top lip. It was the only way to cover the deformity completely. Eating a full meal with the mask on meant twisting the fork or spoon so that of most the food could go on into his mouth. Inevitably, the mask would catch the fork and some of the food would fall back onto the plate or it would smear on the mask. He had tried countless times, but had been unable to succeed in eating normally with the mask on. _I would make a mess of the meal, and she would be disgusted. No! I will never eat a regular meal in front of her._

"Why not?" She put her fork down, and walked up to him. He stepped back, until the sink stopped him. She approached him slowly, and popped a piece of her pear into his mouth. "I like it when we eat together," she said, smiling at him.

"I…I can't eat well with the mask on. I'd have to take it off, and _I will not_ do that." She put another piece of pear in his mouth. Such a simple act stole his breath away. He didn't know where to look when she did that, so he just looked away from her, but accepted the morsel. He would not have refused it if his life depended on it. He hoped she would not notice how hard he was breathing now. He hid his trembling hands at his sides, unable to move, his feet, he remained glued to that spot

"You should be able to eat comfortably in your own home." Her fingers grazed his lower lip as she popped another juicy piece into his mouth. She saw his lips tremble as he closed his mouth over the fruit and her fingertips.

"I will not do that to you. You should be able to eat… in peace." He insisted. Her hand again graced his lips as she fed him. He stayed still, accepting every morsel, every scrap she put into his mouth, enjoying the occasional contact. His body reacted to her touch. ._If she looks down now… what humiliation!_ She would see how perverted a creature he was. She would know that by the simple act of feeding him a piece of fruit from her hand, he turned into an animal. He stood very still, wishing to run, but not able to move. _Oh Christine, why can you not be mine?_ That thought had to be erased, buried! She was his wife, and that had to suffice.

"Before I came, didn't you eat at your table?" She asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Before you came, I was barely alive," he whispered. _Now, I am too alive! _He had to solve his dilemma before she took notice. He tried to turn toward the stove, but she remained by his side.

"I know what's under the mask. You don't need to wear it around me."

"And have you endure it out of pity?" He retorted.

"I do not pity you, Erik. I never have."

She came closer now. Christine felt he needed comfort. His face was nothing to her now. Almost every night, she caught a glimpse of him without the mask. Her husband was a kind, generous person; the fact that his face was not as most people's filled her with sadness because of the pain it had cost him. He deserved some tenderness and warmth in his life. She rested her head on his chest, leaning against him. He tensed, but did not move._ At least_ _he is not pushing me away._ She could feel his breath on the top of her head, moving her hair with soft puffs. Christine heard his heartbeat speed up deep in his thin body... _Am I making him nervous? Of course I am! I want to comfort him, not make him nervous. Maybe I should stop._ She did not move, it felt good to be close to him. She had thought he needed comfort, but she needed it too. Keeping her head on his chest, her arms encircled him. She heard a low moan escape his lips. She should have let him go then, instead, she held him tighter. Christine felt his trembling hands go around her waist. She heard him whisper her name under his breath. It was almost imperceptible, but she heard a shaky "Christine," by her ear. It sounded like a plea, a plea for what? If he did not want her hugging him, why didn't he just move away?

She remembered her conversation with Meg. Did she love Erik? If she did not love him, why did she enjoy his touch so much? Guiltily, she admitted to herself how much she loved to see him react to her proximity. Was she simply cruel, or was Meg right to question her? Could she love two men? _Impossible! I am still in love with Raoul. My sweet, sweet Raoul!_ She had always loved Raoul, first as a friend, and now as her secret love. With a leaden heart, she realized she had not thought of Raoul all week. Christine felt Erik's thumbs making tiny circles on her waist, his other fingers digging delightfully into her. His breath was coming in short shallow gasps. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she stilled herself, relishing the sensations.

"I worry about you not eating enough," she said, still in his arms.

"Yes, well you need not worry on my account. I prefer my own company when dining, and I suggest you cultivate the same predilection," he replied forcefully. Erik pushed her away, and quickly left the kitchen. His words could not be entirely true, she was certain he enjoyed their afternoon tea. Her body cooled quickly, leaving her feeling miserable and lonely. She would continue to insist on his eating with her. It would be much more pleasant to share more meals together.

------------------------------------------------------------------o

"That beast under the Opera House still has her!" Raul exclaimed clutching Christine's note in his hand, "I dare not think what he may be doing to her," he added with a ferocious scowl. "I have to go to her, Philippe, I have to!" He held Christine's note in his hand. "You are not moving from this house, Raoul." Philippe stood over him. "Your fever just broke."

"How do you expect me to leave her in his hands? She is my betrothed," he protested, not convinced by his brother's words.

"Do you really think you can face this monster, as you call him? In your condition?" Philippe chided. "Had I known you would get so excited, I would have never given you the missive."

"I can't ignore this! We need to get the gendarme involved," Raoul insisted. His eyes sought his brother's for support.

"Before we do that, we need some sort of evidence that she doesn't want to be with him," Philippe said. "The note she sent you proves the opposite."

"Christine loves me, and wants to be with me! I know her! " Raul assured his brother. " She's asking for my help," he insisted.

"We need proof of just that."

Philippe answered a knock at the door. It was Mirele, one of the downstairs maids.

"My Lord, you have a visitor," she told him shyly, keeping her eyes on the ground. Mirele was new to the household, and found the comte daunting.

"At this time? Who is it?"

"It's the Marquis Louis du Bourg-Denis," she answered, still not looking at him.

Philippe smiled. "Ah, well you should have said so, girl. Make sure the marquis is comfortable… and tell them to set a plate for him in the dining room."

He turned to his brother. "Come on Raoul, Louis is here. Get dressed and join us in the parlor."

The Chagnys' guest sat on the large chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was a handsome man, blessed with a taut, lean frame. His thinning gray hair made a striking contrast with his boyish face. Only his somber eyes betrayed his nearly six decades of life.

"You look so much better, Raoul. Doesn't he, Philippe?" The marquis nursed a large brandy. His long fingers wrapped around the snifter to keep the liquid warm. He swirled the amber liquid around the glass letting the light reveal golden waves. He sipped at his drink savoring the calvado. Louis brought the snifter to his nose, his nostrils flared as he took in the scent. He preferred the sharper armagnacs.

"I may look better, but Philippe insists I stay in the house," Raoul said, taking a seat. Mirele brought him a hot tea. Raoul motioned to the footman and his drink was promptly doused with a shot of the brandy.

"I agree, his color is back. But he is far from well yet." Philippe also sat with a brandy. He gulped his drink down. The footman immediately refilled the glass and attempted to warm his new brandy but Philippe brushed him away "What brings you to Paris this time?"

"Can't I just check in with my Godson?" said Louis, mock innocence in his voice.

"Of course, I just… " Philippe eyed the older man with hesitancy.

He cocked his head to one side, and grinned. "And since I am here, then I might as well accompany him, and catch an Opera."

"Ah! Now, _that_ is the Louis I know," Philippe, retorted, joining Louis in a hearty laugh.

"My fiancé was kidnapped by a madman!" Raoul interjected. "And Philippe will not allow me to rescue her!"

Louis bolted to a sitting position, almost spilling his drink, his eyes perking up in inquisitiveness. "Kidnapped?" He asked. "Small wonder your brother will not let you go, lad!" He said with concern in his voice. "A rake or a true madman?" He turned to the older brother. "What is this about Philippe?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------o

After their tea, Christine joined Erik in the library. "What are you reading?"

He inhaled deeply on his pipe and slowly exhaled, filling the room with the odor of fresh tobacco before answering. "A book," he answered, without looking up.

"Obviously, Erik!" She snapped. "What is the title of the book? You seem so interested!" She got up and went around him.

As she neared his chair, he closed the book, and placed it on the chair behind his back "It would be of no interest to you, my dear."

She hated it when he made a little thing into a major mystery. Curiosity pricked at her.

Just before bedtime, Christine returned to the library to put away her book. She saw a slim tome peeking out from between the cushions. She bent over, and picked it up. _This is the book Erik was reading! _Without hesitation, she placed it in the waistband of her dress, and walked to her room. She opened the little book, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. The heat traveled all over her body as she passed a few pages. Twice she lingered before snapping the book shut. Out of breath, she ran out of her room, and tiptoed to the library. She put the book back, hiding it between the cushions, as it had been. Just as she was leaving the library, Erik approached her. "Are you looking for something to read Christine?" _Oh God, he knows_! She would not face him. "No Erik, I was just returning my book." She was grateful he didn't say another word as she walked away.

Days passed, but she was unable to erase the images the book evoked in her mind. Even when she was washing dishes, the thoughts came to her._ If we were to be intimate, is that what he wants to do with me? _She avoided Erik, and felt the heat rise to her face whenever she met his eyes. His graceful, skilled hands would sear her when, if by mistake, his fingertips brushed her skin.

Christine drank a glass of sherry as she kneaded the dough for her pastry. She welcomed the exercise the stiff dough provided. _Erik is such a gentleman, surely he would not want to do those things mentioned in the book with me. _She beat the dough flat with her small fists. _Why else would he be reading such a book?_ Taking the heavy pin, she rolled the dough out._ If he did try, would I let him?_ Christine wondered how it would feel to have Erik's hands touch her that way. His hands were so delicate, long thin fingers perfect for playing the piano, perfect for…Again, she felt the heat rise to her face. She took another sip of her sherry. It could never happen anyway; they had an agreement, no intimacy. He would never go back on his word, and she would remain faithful to Raoul. _Does he think about doing those things with me?_ The image came to her mind, as vivid as the moment she first saw it. She nibbled on her lower lip. The warmth spreading through her body made her dizzy. Breathless, she took a seat. She finished off her sherry, trying to ease the dryness in her mouth.

Erik noticed that Christine had taken to blushing for no reason at all. Whenever she faced him, her blush intensified. He wondered if she was thinking about the vicomte. He sensed his rage just under the surface. Was she remembering the boy's kisses? He prayed that that was all she had shared with the vicomte. He could not bear the thought of the boy's hands exploring her body. _I should have killed him_. "Christine, are you all right? You look flushed," he asked warily.

"Oh!" She put her hands to her face, felt the heat, and ran to her room. She prepared herself for a cold bath.

"Christine, you will tell me what is wrong right now," Erik demanded, scowling.

_You can kill me, but I won't talk, Erik. _"'I... am fine, I…"

"Nonsense!" He yelled. Her eyes widened in fear. He forced himself to calm down, and continued. "You have been acting very strangely my dear." He studied her. She had a slim built. Her small waist accentuated her curved hips. Her bosom, though small was perfect for her diminutive proportions. She wore her straight brown hair loose about her shoulders, a small comb on each side holding the hair away from her face as she bent over her book. He was easily a head taller than her and although he was very thin, the small proportions of her body made him feel broad next to her.

She got up to leave. "Erik, I'll be back, I have to go to my room."

"We are not moving from here, until you tell me what is wrong with you!"

"You would keep me here against my will?" She asked.

"If I have to," he insisted. "Are you ready to tell me?"

"Most certainly not!" She snapped.

"Then you will not go to your room," he said stiffly.

_Damn him! That's why he offered me that extra cup of tea_. Christine began to pace the room. After a few minutes, she said, "I really have to go."

"I suggest, you talk quickly," The command in his voice covered by the sweet sound of his timbre.

"Erik I am your wife, not your slave. I will go to my room now!" She cried in dismay. Christine turned on her heels, and quickly headed for her room. She could almost envision the relief she would feel in a few moments. Suddenly, she felt herself lose contact with the ground; her head was upside down, as he slung her over his shoulder over his shoulder.

"I said no one is leaving this room until you tell me what is wrong." Slowly, he walked her back to the library.

The position he had her in pressed on her bladder, and she felt the urge to go ever stronger. He put her down in the room's center. She stood facing him, drawn up to her full height. Her hands fisted. "How dare you not allow a lady her privacy?" She demanded.

"Said lady will be allowed all the privacy in the world when she tells me why she has been blushing every time she sees me for no obvious reason," he retorted.

She had to use the bathroom now, or risk an accident. I _will not humiliate myself in front of him_. "Fine, I will tell you." A few moments later, Christine rushed out of the library, her face burning.

Erik remained in his seat, his two hands interlaced just under his mask, pressed against his mouth in an attempt to stop the laughter escaping from his lips._ The little devil!_

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	7. Chapter 7 Picture Perfect

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: I'm back home so I should be able to post my chapters regularly. A loud shout to my beta Skeleton Horse; Thank you! To those that asked: 1. Yes, the story will be long. 2. No, I will not abandon my story. 3. Yes, there will be twists and turns you cannot imagine. Remember to let me know how you feel about the story as it progresses so please review.**

Chapter 7 ** Picture Perfect**

"Concentrate, for pity's sake, or let us leave your lesson for tomorrow!" Erik banged his fist on the piano.

"Why should I continue to practice if I am never to sing in public again?" Christine whined as she plopped down next to him on the piano bench.

"Pray tell, Christine!" He said impatiently. "Why wouldn't you sing in public again?" he asked perplexed.

"You mean you wouldn't mind…if I sang in public?" His answer had taken her by surprise. She had assumed that Erik would be like most husbands. Once married, men confined their wives' public appearances to the couples' acquaintances; she had never expected to grace a stage again.

"What I would mind, is if you wasted my time. I _do not_ train parlor singers! " He countered in irritation.

"Oh Erik! When? Tell me when? Please?" Christine was elated. She felt like, jumping, skipping, and throwing her arms in the air in joy.

"I will return you to the stage when you are ready to replace Carlota permanently. She does not have your talent, but her age gives her a presence you lack. Her repertoire is also vast; you must develop, and solidify yours, he said calmly.

"I promise I will work hard. As hard as you want me to." Her hands clenched in front of her as in prayer.

"Now, stop wasting my time, and start from the top. Second bar, Allegro. That goes not only for your voice, my dear, but also for your expression," he said mockingly. "Do you think you could favor us with a smile? Oh, and wipe that silly look from your face before we begin. 1, 2, 3…" His bony fingers stretched over the keys.

"Yes, Maestro!" She answered, as she hugged him, causing him to stiffen in response. Christine pecked his lips softly. He gasped, and drew back a little, squaring his shoulders. She gave him another peck, this time her lips lingering into a light kiss. They separated, and held each other's gaze. His eyes were wide, filled with longing. He was so still she could not tell if he was breathing. _Why do I feel this need to kiss his lips? They are just lips but under mine, they feel so silky. I was never so brazen with Raoul! But Erik is my husband. _Breathlessly, she approached his lips again. His head bent down slightly toward her, his eyes already closed, waiting for her.

A tinkling alarm sounded. Exasperated by the ill-timed interruption, he opened his eyes, and looked away toward the hidden tunnel entrance. When he turned back toward her, the moment was broken; she blushed, and got up. He felt faint from her kisses and furious about having that moment interrupted.

He went to the entrance to check the pest's identity. "It's Hafiz," he managed to call out. Erik cursed himself for putting an alarm in the tunnel used by Hafiz. He decided that a surprise entrance would have been worse. _Damn that Persian!_ What he had to do was to block that entrance.

-------------------------------------------------------------------o

"What can you possibly want from me today?" Erik said stiffly.

"And a good evening to you Erik," Hafiz smiled, coming into the room."Be quick, what do you want?" He did not bother hiding his displeasure at the visit.

"I came to pay a social visit," Hafiz answered, amused. He walked to the fireplace and stretched his hands out toward the warmth.

"Well then, if you don't need anything, you can leave," Erik told him curtly.

"Erik!" Christine shook her head at her husband. She stood just behind him. Rudeness to a guest was unthinkable, even if she wasn't any happier than Erik to see Hafiz at that moment. She had enjoyed their last kiss and had been looking forward to the one Hafiz interrupted. "Hafiz, how wonderful to see you! Won't you please take a seat?"

Erik groaned loudly, and sat down as well. She gave him an exasperated look, and sat next to him. Erik could feel the warmth of her body as she sat closely to him on the divan. He was still irritated with the Persian's appearance, but this appeased him for now.

"How have you been?" she asked their guest.

"Quite well, thank you Christine, but did I interrupt anything?" Hafiz asked with mock innocence. Neither of his hosts seemed too happy to see him although Christine, at least, was making an effort at civility.

"I was giving Christine a singing lesson," Erik cut in too quickly. He looked toward Christine, met her eyes briefly, and turned back to Hafiz.

From Erik's speedy answer, their brief glances, and Christine's sudden blush, Hafiz could tell he had interrupted more than a simple lesson. Sitting side by side, they looked as if one had stolen the goat and the other one sold it._ What is going on with these two?_

"I think I will make us tea. Please excuse me," she said, quickly leaving for the kitchen.

"Not only are you a fool, but you are a meddling one as well," said Erik, annoyed.

"My dear friend, why do I sense hostility coming from you? Am I not welcome?" Hafiz teased his friend.

"Your presence is insufferable today!" responded Erik, infuriated. "You come at will as if I should always, at all times welcome you. Well, I do not!" His hands fisted but he kept his temper in check.

"We have an agreement!" the Persian reminded him, unruffled. That agreement was now well over twenty years old and this was not the first time Erik had tried to renege on it. On the other hand it was the first time he had seen Erik so upset without his temper getting the better of him. _Good girl, you're taming the wolf!_

"An agreement, not a jail term! And I will remind you that I was forced into it." Erik glared at him.

"An agreement all the same," answered Hafiz. Saving Erik's life had finally given him a moral hold on the man. They were linked for life.

"Why did you come today… simply to vex me?" Erik hissed. "You are not welcome!"

"Erik, I heard that, are you being rude to our guest? Erik?" Christine called out from the kitchen.

Under his breath Erik murmured, "Damn it! Damn you, Persian!" He turned his face toward the kitchen, changing his voice to a more melodious tone and said, "No, I am not being rude. I was teasing my friend."

Erik's rage filled eyes caused Hafiz to double up in his seat. Hafiz's raucous laughter filled the room.

She came in with a tray. "Oh good, you _are _entertaining Hafiz!" She gave her husband a big smile.

"Here, Christine, let me help you with that." Hafiz took the tray from her before Erik could get to it. "You have no idea how entertaining our Erik can be."

"Why, thank you Hafiz," she said, putting out the tray's contents. She placed the teapot and teacups on the side table by Erik. The tray with her pastries went on the center table.

The Persian could feel Erik's eyes on him. He was tempted to laugh again, but thought of his personal safety, and decided against it. The wolf was domesticated, but it was still a wolf.

"I will join you promptly. Please begin without me," said Christine, leaving them alone again.

In a sudden change of demeanor, Erik leaned back nonchalantly. "Help yourself to any of those," Erik said pointing to the pastry on the tray. "My wife makes them for me. She makes fresh ones everyday but only the ones I like of course." He sighed deeply and shook his head. "There is no end to the trouble it causes me to have to acquire all the ingredients she requires. But she insists on using only the finest ingredients to make me tarts and such." His studied voice revealed nothing of the pride shining in his eyes. It was the exaggeratedly affected voice of nonchalance. He was, for a moment, like a pretentious nobleman, bothered because he had to choose among so many pairs of shoes. Hafiz noted that Erik did not refer to Christine by her name but instead called her 'my wife'." The light shining off Erik's eyes betrayed the immense pleasure he derived from repeating those simple words.

"I would not wish to take your favorite sweet, Erik." Hafiz smirked.

"Do not worry yourself on my account. My wife will simply make more," Erik, answered.

"What happens to the ones you don't like?"

"Oh, we take those with us when we go visiting. They are excellent pastries, just not my favorites." He leaned back on the divan, finally at ease since Hafiz's entrance.

Christine returned, and sat with them. Her hair freshly brushed and pinned back with combs. Her glossy, pink lips looked entrancing to Erik. His eyes remained glued to her in reverence. "You should have started." She said as she poured Erik's tea, putting in one and a half teaspoons of sugar, and stirring it and she handed it to him. He took the cup, and sniffed in her direction.

"You smell wonderful," he said, closing his eyes to concentrate on her aroma.

"That is the scent you got me," she said as she held her inner wrist to his face. "See, it's the one you like."

Erik was unable to answer. The scent permeated into his memory, and reminded him of the times she had worn it, including their wedding day.

"Yes, dear, I love that scent on you," he murmured. He brought his face close to the back of her ears and sniffed again.

Hafiz stirred uncomfortably in his seat.

She turned to their guest, and poured tea for Hafiz. "Sugar?"

"Yes, three, thank you."

Hafiz noticed Erik frowned slightly at Hafiz's teacup, and then looked away. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, not really," he said offhandedly.

"You are looking at my tea as if there is something wrong. What is it?" the Persian inquired.

Discreetly, Erik said, "well, you won't be able to appreciate the pastry as you should."

Hafiz gave him a confused look.

"My wife says you should not have so much sugar in your tea if you…"

"Oh Erik, leave him alone…he can have his tea anyway he wants it," she rebuked him.

Erik shrugged, and drank from his cup unhurriedly. He picked up a tiny morsel, and put it in his mouth.

He turned to Christine. "As always, my love, delectable!" He took her hand and brushed his lips lightly against her knuckles.

She smile up at him and placed her hand on his knee. Erik patted her hand, and continued to sip his tea leisurely.

Hafiz made a note that if they acted like this all the time, he would have to visit more often to have a good laugh. Incredible! He was having a conversation with the Prince of Assassins, Erik the vicious, ruthless executioner, the heartless slayer of those unfortunate enough to have fallen out of favor with the Royal family, about the optimum amount of sugar one should have with their tea, when having pastries. If it were not for the mask, he would have thought this was another man, a man with a clean past.

Erik drank his obligatory third cup of tea. Once the meal was over, they sat back, sated from their smorgasbord of sweets.

"Actually, I did come bearing gifts, or surprises as you will." He took a small packet out of his coat, and thrust it at Erik. "Here, your wedding photographs. Erik snatched the enveloped from Hafiz's outstretched hand. He tore the top open, and spilled the photographs on to the table with the tea service. "You should have given this to me immediately, instead of dallying with your absurdities."

"I imagine that was a thank you. So, you are welcome," said the Persian.

"Thank you, Hafiz," said Christine, shooting Erik a warning look.

"You need not thank me dear girl. It was my pleasure," answered Hafiz.

"She does not need to thank you, but I do? I, who have been perturbed by your nonsense." Erik picked up a photograph. First, he looked at the one with Christine alone. His lips curled. Then he looked at one with just the two of them. Neither Christine nor Hafiz knew that that was the first time Erik had allowed anyone to capture his image.

"May I see them, Erik?" she asked, reaching out with her hand.

He cleared his throat, picked up all the photographs, and he walked out of the parlor, murmuring.

Christine heard Erik say, "Excuse me," under his breath, his voice husky. He rushed out of the room, photographs in hand.

"I guess I will see them later," she said.

Hafiz noted the disappointment in her voice and wondered if her disappointment had to do with the wedding. Would the photographs remind her of her lost opportunities with the vicomte? The wedding, though genuine, had come about based on threats and abduction. He would not be surprised if she was still miserable about her lot. Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to notice she had positioned herself close to his ear.

Hafiz's heart dropped when he saw Christine at his side. It was just as he had feared; Erik had been keeping her against her will!

"Is he forcing you to be here, Christine?" Hafiz whispered, looking in the direction where Erik had left.

"What are you talking about?" She asked.

He moved in closer to her. "Do you need help getting away from him?"

"From Erik? I don't want to get away from my husband!" She said, peeved. "Why would I?"

"What is it then?" Hafiz asked, embarrassed.

"There is a man who visits here," she confided.

"Oh?" Hafiz was confused. What was all the secrecy about?

"He comes in and out of the tunnels like you do… without a blindfold. Erik will not introduce me, or even let me see him."

The Persian's heart skipped a beat. Was Erik up to his old tricks again?

"It is very strange when he comes with all the hushed voices. Do you know who it could be?" She asked the Persian.

"No, what does he look like?"

"He dresses in black. That is all I could see. But I heard them talking," she added.

"What does the mystery man sound like?" Hafiz inquired.

"He sounded like a wounded grasshopper," she said grinning.

Giggling, she imitated the sound for him. Hafiz laughed and Christine joined him.

"Do you remember what they talked about?"

"Erik was giving the man money," She whispered.

"Are you sure it wasn't the other way around?" In his experience with Erik, people had been willing to pay him vast sums for his expertise in promoting someone else's earthly departure.

"I am certain. Erik made the man count the money. What does it mean, Hafiz? Could someone be blackmailing him?" She asked, concerned.

It had to be a mistake. Obviously, Christine did not know about Erik's past. Hafiz made a mental note to investigate what Erik was up to now.

"Christine, I must know. Are you happy? Does Erik treat you well?" He asked her, careful this time, not to sound offensive.

"I have never been treated with more love, and respect," she said with absolute conviction. Even his best friend assumed the worse from him. If Erik had been born with a normal face this conversation would not be taking place. Christine felt disappointed with Hafiz; life had been so unjustly cruel to her husband that even his best friend would think he might try to hurt her.

"Can you live with him for the rest of your life?"

She thought of their kisses by the piano and her husband's promise to return her to the stage. "Yes," she said. "I will be with Erik always." It astonished her that she felt so at ease with the idea of a lifetime with Erik.

"If you ever need me… if you need me to rescue you from him, do not hesitate to tell me. I will help you no matter what. I have known Erik since he was a young man. I know what he is… what he is capable of." He hoped he did not sound offensive, but he had to let her know she could count on him.

"He is my husband now. I doubt I will need to get away from him," she said tersely, looking away from Hafiz.

Hafiz could sense her discomfort. Her loyalty to Erik was endearing, but he had to warn her. He had to give her a safety net…just in case. "Be careful Christine, and keep me in mind. I will continue to visit from time to time. If you ever need my help, wear red, as much red as you can find, and I will understand,'' he added.

"Hafiz, aren't you his closest friend? Then why do you talk like this?" She sounded confused and hurt. "As if Erik would hurt me."

"I was with him when…" He stopped himself. It was not his place to give away Erik's secrets.

"When what?" she asked.

Silent as ever, Erik returned to the library, still holding the photographs. "Should I gather that_ I_ am the reason for your hushed conversation?" Erik's eyes went from one to the other, observing them. "Your job is done now Hafiz. I approve of your photographer." He handed the photographs to Christine and stood near her.

"Christine will be singing in public again!" He announced to Hafiz, pointing upward.

"At the Opera House? When?" Hafiz grinned, showing brilliant white teeth.

"When? When I say she is ready, and not a day sooner!" He crossed his arms on his chest.

Christine was fully engrossed in the photographs. As she held one of the photographs up, Hafiz saw her wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. Her reaction stunned him. Was this possible? For a woman that had been forced into a wedding, she was acting much more like the blushing bride than the aggrieved victim. Had Christine seen under the mask?

"These are beautiful, Erik," she cried. "Come sit next to me," she patted the divan. Her obliging husband sat dutifully by her side, looking at the photographs with her.

Neither host noticed Hafiz get up, and walk toward the tunnel entrance.

"I leave you to enjoy your photographs. Thank you for your delectable edibles," the Persian said.

"Yes, well show yourself out…Thank you!" mumbled Erik. Christine, totally engrossed, nodded toward Hafiz, but did not say a word.

Just before he started for the tunnel, he turned and looked at the couple, she, a petite, beautiful young girl, he, a gaunt man with thinning hair, wearing a black mask. They sat side-by-side, shoulders touching, both bent over their wedding photographs, murmuring to each other. Hafiz shook his head, and headed home.

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	8. Chapter 8 Summer in the Cellars

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: Please remember to read and review. Thank you to my readers, and reviewers. I love hearing what you think of the characters, and the story development. This chapter is my longest to date. A special thank you to my beta, Skeleton Horse. As usual, she has done a fantastic editing job. **

Chapter 8

**Summer in the Cellars**

She saw a drop of sweat emerging from the bottom of his mask; it dangled at the edge of his chin. Erik whisked it away with a gloved finger, then lifted his mask just enough to dab at his face with a handkerchief.

"Erik, why don't you remove it? You must be awfully uncomfortable," she said.

"I will be fine." He reached for a glass of water atop the piano, only to find it empty.

"I'll get you a glass of cool lemonade. I made it this morning," she said, as she headed toward the kitchen. She took the lemonade from their icebox, and poured him a long glass.

"Thank you," he said, taking the glass, and putting the drink to his lips. The edge of the glass met with the bottom of his mask, making a noise;he pushed his head back further to be able to drink.

She sat back in his big chair in the library, her legs tucked under her, reading Voltaire's _Candide_. Erik had recommended the book. As a novel, Christine found the political references boring, but by the look on her face, no one could have guessed. She always listened, and tried to understand Erik when he spoke about science or politics, but the truth was that it was beyond her comprehension. She would much have preferred to sit with the latest copy of the Èpoque. Christine stretched her arms in cat like fashion and yawned. She was dressed in nothing but her chemise under a light dressing gown loosely tied around her waist. The day was too hot to dress at home. She pitied those upstairs at the Opera House. If it was this hot down here, they must be dying upstairs.

Erik's music relaxed her, so she leaned her head back and watched him through barely opened eyes. He wore a white shirt open at the neck with dark gray trousers. His neck and chin glistened with perspiration. He adjusted the bench and began playing again, stopping every few notes in a feverish attempt to write down his composition. He continued this way for a while. A few moments later, she noticed the same action again. Another drop dangled from his chin, threatening to fall on to the music paper. Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she looked back to her book, and heard a muffled curse. He was dabbing at his music paper with his handkerchief, getting it blacker with each dab.

"That's it Erik, remove your mask now!"

"What?" He asked incredulously.

"I said, remove your mask. Why are you torturing yourself?" She got up and went to his side.

"I am fine, just…" he began to answer.

"I can't sit here and watch this… I shall go upstairs earlier than planned so you may have the privacy you need to be comfortable."

"No, wait, do not leave yet. I do not like to impose this on you," he said, his finger pointing to his face.

"It is an awfully hot day for you to sit there suffering like that. I have seen your face many times now," She countered, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"But it is still a gruesome sight!" He reminded her.

"Those are your words Erik, not mine." She stood by him, hands on hips.

"You make me feel like a guest, as if we were not family." _Family! I called him family! I had never considered him family before, but he is._ He was as much family as Mama Valerius. Erik was her family. Strange she had never seen that before she said it.

"Family! Well… well, I suppose," he gave a long sigh, and took the edge of the mask in his hands. With a flip of his wrist, he removed the black piece of leather from his face. His bare face was red and slightly swollen from its imprisonment. He angled his face away from her, and wiping his face with the handkerchief again, bent over his work.

She left the room, returning a few moments later with a wet cloth.

"No, no. I am fine now, he said quickly, glancing at the cloth, and avoiding her eyes.

"You have ink on your face!" She giggled. His eyes narrowed at the thought that she might be laughing at his face. "Look at your handkerchief."

"Curses!" He muttered, staring at the blackened handkerchief. He watched her suspiciously as she came closer.

Standing behind him, she pulled his head gently back against her abdomen, and put the cool cloth over his face, making no contact with the inflamed skin. Christine placed her hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles of his neck and shoulders for a few minutes as he relaxed a little.

"Oh…it feels good. Thank you." He let his head rest against her, delighting in the coolness of the cloth on his face. He did not remember a day in Paris as hot as this one. In Persia and Turkey, hot days had been different since the weather was dry. Normally it was cool in the cellars under the Opera House, but today, the moisture arising from the lake had nowhere to escape.

She smiled; normally, he did not allow any ministrations from her. She felt glad to be able mitigate some of her husband's discomfort in this heat. As she removed the cloth, his eyes searched her face. They were a deep gold in that moment. She also saw a glint of steel, but then it was gone. She found his eyes irresistible, though mostly she loved the devotion with which he looked at her, as if there were no one else in the world worthy of his gaze.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes roaming her face and finally settling on her lips. Unconsciously he wet his own.

Her heart raced in its confinement; she was the one who felt ill at ease now as he averted his gaze.

"You're welcome. If you are more comfortable now, I will leave you and return with another one later," she said.

He grabbed her wrist. "There is no need for you to leave. Join me?" His simple request made her heart flutter. She slid into the bench next to him. He picked up his mask again and beganto place it on his face. She took it from his hands.

"It is too warm, leave it off."

"I cannot, Christine." He replaced it, and began to play. Her heart went out to her husband. Hiding his face was so ingrained in him that even when there was no one around to poke fun or ridicule him, he still imposed the mask on his face and hid, seeking safety. His face was appalling, but it could never frighten or disgust her now. She felt such shame over her past reaction to seeing his face. She sat by his side as he played part of his new composition for her. In one or two places, she bravely gave her opinion, and after his initial surprise, he acknowledged her suggestions. He incorporated one of her suggestions, which took the piece in another direction.

At three o'clock, Christine set out on a visit to her friend. She wore a yellow summer visiting dress with a low collar, and a jaunty little hat with a tiny green feather perched on her head. Erik rowed them across the lake, and accompanied her to Meg's room.

This was the first time he would leave her on her own outside their home. "Are you sure about returning on your own, Christine?" A terrible feeling of doom clung to his heart. He no longer felt like finishing his composition.

"Yes, I am. Go work on your music. I know the way home," she insisted.

It eased his mind that she had said home, but the awful feeling did not leave his chest. "At what time will you return?"

"I should be home by five o'clock."

There it was again,the word home.' If she considered it her home, she would return as promised. He felt he should trust her, but his heart told him otherwise.

As she knocked on Meg's door, he kissed her cheek, his lips curling just a little. Christine resisted the temptation to brush against his lips. She greeted her friend as Meg opened the door. As usual, Erik was already gone.

Meg was in a loose housedress, dabbing her face with a handkerchief. "They had to cancel rehearsals today- Sorelli almost passed out from the heat!" She made a face, imitating the swooning ballerina.

"I am going to be a diva!" Christine burst out. "Erik is preparing me to go back to the stage."

"He's going to let you? We'll be together again!" Both girls twirled around, skirts catching on the furniture.

"You are lucky that he consented. Most husbands wouldn't even consider it," Meg said.

"I did not even ask him, it was his idea," she added, "'I do not train parlor singers'," he said. "She tried to imitate his voice but broke into a giggle. Both girls laughed and sat on the small couch.

Meg shook her head, unable to believe her friend's luck. "We'll see each other everyday again!"

"Look, Meg." She pulled out a few wedding photographs from her bag.

"Oh, no! My hat was crooked." Meg looked at the picture in horror.

"What?"

"My hat… look," Meg said, pointing. "It's not quite right."

"Oh Meg!" Christine giggled, and punched her friend's arm.

"You looked beautiful, Christine. Everyone said so. The photograph is lovely. Too bad he has to wear that thing on his face. It must be awful what he hides under there."

"It is not awful at all," she lied in his defense. "Why, if he were not so shy he could show his face."

"Maybe it is not awful for you!" Meg had never seen it, but there were those in the Opera House that had seen the Phantom maskless. The stories they told gave her goosebumps. Sensing her friend's discomfort, Meg changed the topic. Looking at the wedding photograph again, she pointed at it. "Oh look, it's Pietro and Jean, God bless them!" She said,making the sign of the cross. She waited while Christine did the same. Pointing again to the photograph she said, "Pierre left the Opera House. One day he was just gone with that fat wife of his. Remember how she ate that day? Ugh! I thought no one else would get cake!" She laughed. "Well, he just up and left everything, how irresponsible! Now they have to get someone to help with packing away the scenery. He was strong as an ox, that one! They have had to place two men in his place. Big and dumb, he was! "

"But not too dumb to stare up our legs," Christine reminded her friend. "How are things progressing with your Count du Veille?" She asked her friend.

"He is gathering his courage to tell his mother about us," Meg answered sadly.

"That's an improvement," Christine said encouragingly.

"He has been gathering said couragefor the past four months. I suppose he has more courage than most!" She snickered. "His Mother has blue ink running through her veins. Oh well. I wish I had the courage to break my pledge," the ballerina said, despondently.

"You really love him, don't you?" Christine asked, putting her hand over Meg's hand.

Meg walked to the window and sighed. "Yes, I do." Unsure, she turned to her friend. "Christine, I have something for you." Meg took a piece of paper from her drawer. "Count Philippe brought this last week." She handed Christine a folded note on the finest linen paper.

Her hands trembled as she held Raoul's response. She felt her stomach clench as if she were going to throw up.

"You look ill, Christine!" Concerned, Meg touched her friend's arm.

"Oh Meggy! I feel terrible. Look at what I hold in my hand!" She cried, waving the note.

Meg gave her a befuddled look.

"Look… a knife… a knife to plunge into my husband's heart! This is betrayal! He loves me so much Meg, that sometimes I can't stand it." She buried her head in her arms. "Since when have I sunk so low?" She whimpered, her eyes filling with tears.

"Please, Christine, put that letter away…if my mother should see it…" Meg said nervously.

"I should throw it away and be done with it. Burn it!" She cried

"But how will you know what it says? Maybe he is telling you of his impending marriage?"

"Raoul would never do that to me," she said assuredly.

"Do you expect him to pine away forever? You got married!"

"Yes, to save him!" Again she felt as if her very words were hurting Erik.

"I don't know what to say." Meg sat next to her friend.

"I don't know what to do," Christine countered.

"Christine, you have to be sure of what you want, or a disaster will ensue. You cannot have them both! Read it and then dispose of it," For the first time her friend's visit was an annoyance. Christine had an attentive, if strange husband who doted on her, and she was playing with sending notes to her former fiancé. Meg was still waiting for someone to want to marry her. She was in love with Eduard, but she knew this was not a lasting relationship. No matter what he said, ultimately, she was nothing more than a pretty trophy he hung on his arm until he found an appropriate blue blood wife. If she had a faithful loving husband like Erik, she would be by his side making sure he was happy and not dallying with some foolish noble boy. It was too hot to have to listen to her friend's selfish indecision even if she loved her. **"**Just read it and be done with it." She was losing her patience.

Christine noticed the change in Meg. "I'll read it later…Thank you, Meg."

Meg was sorry she had ever agreed to be an intermediary. She felt as if she too were betraying the man who for years had given her and her mother financial stability. "I know what…let's get a mineral water from the Bon-Deux café, they have really cold drinks there!" Meg suggested.

"But Erik thinks I'm here," Christine protested.

Meg couldn't stand to be in that room another moment. "Come on Christine, it's right around the corner."

"Alright, but only a mineral water, and we come right back."

"Let me get Maman, she will want a cool drink too." She looked down at herself with a gasp."You get Maman while I get dressed."

"Meg? You think I'm shallow don't you?" Christine asked her oldest friend.

"Shallow? No, I think you are very spoiled. First, your father gives you everything you want, even things he cannot even afford. Followed by Madame Valerius who treats you as if she had given birth to you. Then you meet a viscount, who truly wants to marry you, and now you have a husband who would die for you. A husband who makes your meals, and wants you to return to the stage for pity's sake, and what do you do, you start having a relationship with your former fiancé!"

"I am not having…" she began, her eyes filling up.

"Yes you are, Christine. You send notes to each other, and you plan to meet him behind your husband's back. That, in any French court, is adultery!" There, the words that had whirled in Meg's head for so long were finally out.

Christine was shocked by her friend's outburst. Her eyes burned from unshed tears. "Oh Meggy, maybe we should get that drink!" Her eyes spilled as her friend turned away to get dressed. Christine left the room in order to get Madame Giry, she dabbing at her eyes with the new monogrammed handkerchief Erik hadbought her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------o

He sat at his piano, working on a particularly difficult part of his composition. Lately he had found inspiration coming to him in bundles. At times, he even found himself sitting at his desk designing buildings that he knew would never be built. Her mere presence caused his mind to imagine structures that were beyond the capabilities of most builders. His compositions also look on a lighter note their complexity achieved not by darkness but by light. His music was still sensually rich and mysterious but the darkness that had permeated all of his earlier works was gone. He had set aside _Don Juan_, finding nothing to add.

He took his watch out; it was five o'clock. She was late! He went back to his music, but a few minutes later, he was checking the timepiece again. Once more, he attempted to let music take his mind off a terrible foreboding, but he did not even last a minute this time.

What something had happened to her on the way down? Although they had been through the tunnels leading to their home many times together, it was the first time she would come down by herself. She knew the way, he was certain! He got up, and rowed across trudging up the trail leading to the small Giry apartment. He put his ear to the door. Normally he could hear the girls, their peals of laughter though the door. Now there was only silence. He went around a side passage. Never having used it before, it was full of spider webs. He could see quite well in the dark, and soon found the latch that opened a panel inside a cupboard. He went through and into Meg's room. The room was empty, of course. He crossed the room, and let himself into the rest of the apartment. All the rooms were emptyHis anguished rang through the empty house._ They betrayed me! From the old hag, to her useless daughter, this folly would cost them dearly._

_His heart beat wildly in his chest. She promised!_ Christine wouldn't break her promise to him. Not now, they were married. Christine seemed happy when she was with him. They had shared so much. She would not, could not fake all that just to fool him, and be free of her cage. What _would you do to be free of your own cage? Would he kill? Kill, lie, and steal, anything._ Now he knew the truth. Christine would not be coming back. Erik could barely breathe. He let himself out, and ran down toward his home.

_So, she has an accomplice, more than one it would seem. They will bathe__in their own blood! By now, she could be in the arms of the boy. Maybe in his bed. I sleep on the floor like a maggot and he makes love to my wife in his bed!_ His jagged breathing made him stop in the darkened hall in order to catch his breath. His legs trembled. _How could I have let this woman get to me so, that I am in this state?_ He continued down to the fifth cellar, holding on to the walls for support. _Christine, you cannot be with him!_

_Fool! Fool! Fool for letting her go. You had her, and let her go. What a fool you are, Erik! How could it be any other way? You forced her to be with you, and now you expect her to forget the boy and love you? Fool! A young girl like her, what else would she dream of, you with your face; when she can dream of him, a young beautiful boy. Who has ever loved you? How could a perfectly beautiful angel like Christine love you? She was already so sweet to marry you, to share her life with you. She kisses you…you without your mask! Who else would do that but an angel? Anyone else would die! His chest felt tight as if a hard lump stood between his ribs. You have been given a miracle, and yet, you want more. Greedy…greedy beast! You don't deserve what she gives. You ungrateful, despicable wretch!_

What a genius he was_. What an amazingly useless genius! Useless maybe, but not gutless!_ He would get her back regardless of the bodies he had to pile up to get to her. _Blood will flow through the streets like an overturned bath. They will all pay, the guilty,__and the innocent alike._ He took out a bottle of cognac and poured himself half a glass. He paced back and forth in the parlor, feeling unnaturally cold in his misery. He drank deeply as he walked.

"Sebastian, Sebastian!" Erik ran to the entrance of a tunnel and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Sebastian!" He filled another glass, and by the time that was empty, Erik heard footsteps.

"You must be in a bad mood to…" He looked at Erik and said, "she left you!" No emotion reflected in the rat catcher's voice. He dressed all in black from head to toe. His hair was short, and plastered against his scalp, with an over abundance of cheap pomade. He was slightly shorter than Erik was, and powerfully built. His handsome features were overpowered by his soiled appearance. A musty odor clung to him. His eyes were dark with no sheen to them, dull black coals surrounded by pale skin.

"He took her," Erik cried.

"I thought it was about the other business…No matter. What am I good for?"

"Erik needs a gun now," he said.

"I though you didn't like guns. What about your lasso?"

"I will have my lasso, but… I am neither young, nor a fool. Get two rifles…the best you… can find. Here, that should cover it," He handed Seb a thick wad of bills, careful not to touch the filthy hand, even with his gloves on.

"I'll bring them tomorrow," the rat catcher answered.

"And ammunition…bring plenty of that," Erik added. "And two sacks of saltpeter. I have everything else."

"What do you need two rifles for?" Seb asked.

"We are going to bring my wife home!"

He nodded in comprehension. "Who are we hunting?"

"One Raoul de Chagny and whosoever gets in the way!"

----------------------------------------------------------o

As the realization of her betrayal sunk in, the pain became unbearable. A black mood overtook him. Erik walked into his room, the empty bottle still in his hand. He picked up a leather strap hanging on the wall of his room. He stripped to the waist, knelt on the coir rug, and began to whip his back with the strap. Tears of rage, frustration, and pain sprang to his eyes. Each blow astounded him. His heart raced, and eventually began to thump against his ribs. He continued the castigation until he saw blood on the strap.

_No one takes what belongs to Erik!_

-----------------------------------------------------------o

Christine waited on the other side of the lake for Erik to pick her up. She knew he would worry because she was late. The three women had gone to the café, and time had gotten away. She loved her outing, but now she was ready to come home. Funny, how she had come to regard these cellars as her home. She loved being out in the sun, but now she longed for the soothing darkness. When he arrived, she would hug him and he would hug her back. She longed for the hardness of his embrace. Christine rang the bell again. She noticed a roach crawling along the wall. Ugh!

_Erik!_

Quickly she rang again. As her anxiety increased, she noticed more and more creatures. Christine closed her eyes against the invaders. She picked up her skirts just in case, and rang again.

"Erik!" She called out. It was so quiet down here he had to hear her. She had imagined him pacing and worrying. Now she realized he was still probably involved in his music, and wasn't giving her a thought. He wasn't even aware of her return. She supposed that that was good, since what scared her most about him was his obsession with her. Clearly, that was played out, now that he had her. Perhaps the daily contact had withered the novelty of her presence. Still, he wasn't even showing her the common courtesy shown to a wife. She saw a large rat staring up at her from a corner.

"ERIK!" She rang and rang the bell. _Damn his uncaring soul!_

"ERIK!"

Somewhere in his consciousness, he heard the sound. Erik fought back to consciousness, and sat up in the coffin. The stupor of pain and drink had fogged his senses.

_Christine...Christine?_

_Christine! The bell! She came back to me!_ Somehow, he crawled out of the coffin, losing his balance and sprawling on the floor, knocking the coffin off the dais.

_Christine!_

He had to get to her, but his mind and his body would not cooperate. He felt numb; his brain was held by a vice that didn't let him think. He pulled a shirt over his naked torso. Half crawling, and holding on to the walls, he made his way to the boat. Twice he slipped and nearly fell but managed to keep going. The pole helped to steady him as much as to propel the boat across the lake.

"ERIK!" He heard her shriek. Erik heard her final shriek just as he made out her moving form. Christine was holding up her skirts and doing a little dance on the far shore. He could see her eyes glued to a rat hiding on the side. The scene was so amusing to him that he threw his head back and laughed. When he reached the shore, he helped her get in the boat, then he embraced her so tightly, they nearly lost their balance. He regained some control over his emotions, and managed to pole them back.

She finally saw his form coming on the boat. As Erik approached, she noticed that he looked disheveled. His hair, normally slicked back and tied, was sticking up with a few strands falling into his eyes. His dress was also out of character. The shirt was wrinkled, and half out of his breeches.

Although he was very close now she called out to him again.

He began to laugh then, as she had never heard him. Christine wasn't at all sure she wanted to go back across the lake with this seeming stranger. He helped her onto the boat and embraced her in a bear hug that unbalanced the boat. They both fell to their knees, almost tipping the boat. His raw masculine smell, mixed with a hint of alcohol, reached her. He's been drinking! She relaxed. No one else smelled like Erik. She was safe.

He was anxious to get her across the lake and back into their home. On the other shore, he took her off the boat, and held her tightly. Still in his arms, Erik nuzzled her neck, and laid little kisses on her collarbone. Christine moaned. It was nearly his undoing. His body reacted, and longing over took reason. Erik let his hand wander just beyond her waist to where her body rounded. Christine hugged him, rubbing his back. A sharp pain tore through his back as she made contact with the raw flesh, bringing him to his senses. He backed away from her, horrified at what he had been about to do.

As he walked ahead of her to open the door, she saw thin red splotches on the back of his shirt. She would not bother asking him anything tonight, with the drink in him: she would wait until tomorrow. Her husband had some explaining to do. She walked toward her room, securing the note in her waistband.

---------------------------------------------------------oo


	9. Chapter 9 The Tunnel

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

A/N: Pictorial information on this story is available on my homepage at susanacmar (dot) googlepages (dot) com. **A shout out to my reviewers for this chapter, Thank you guys!** Pink spider11(I hope its to your liking), neko-chan (Thanks a lot!), Luna, Rachelle, no one mourns the wicked, Ripper de la Blackstaff, mildetryth, MadBrilliant (as requested!), Sarah Crawford, litchick84, EriksDiva, Rowin, Doogie, Phantomtears(Thank you), Emma Watson, Shadow Fox Forever (sorry), and Megumisakura(sorry).

**Chapter 9**

**The Tunnel**

Meg turned at the sharp knock on the room door. She was the last ballerina left in the dressing room, and was almost ready to leave.

"Yes?"

"It's me," a deep masculine voice announced.

"Push, it's open."

Eduard stood blocking her doorway. He was dressed in dark evening clothes, impeccable from head to toe, yet, he managed to look casual. Only his tousled hair gave away a streak of waywardness. He walked in with a broad smile, and kissed the top of her head.

"You were the tops! Truly amazing! I can't see why you are not the prima ballerina?" He gushed.

She returned the smile. "I have told you Sorelli has… certain qualities I do not yet have…If I ever will…"

"I think you were just fabulous," he pulled a bouquet of flowers form behind his back and stuffed it just under her nose.

"Oh, Eduard, really!" She laughed, and let him slip his arm around her waist, taking her into his arms. He freezed in mid-action as a knock interrupted them.

"She is not here," he called out.

"Eduard you can't do that," she whispered "Yes?"

"May I come in? It's Philippe de Chagny."

Eduard frowned, but remained by her side his arms just touching her waist possessively.

"My dear Ms. Giry, you were charming! Congratulations" He took her offered hand, and brushed his lips on her knuckles. He nodded toward Eduard.

"Thank you, comte Philippe."

"Please, it's Philippe. You are making me feel ancient!"

"I don't believe anyone could do that," she said demurely.

"Here, these are for you…and…" he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Here is a note for Ms. Daae from my brother. You will see that she receives it, won't you?" She nodded, and he gave her a small bow. "Have a good evening." Ignoring Eduard, he turned away.

Eduard took out his handkerchief, and wiped the knuckles Philippe had kissed. "What a disgusting display! I should challenge him to a duel at dawn! What a cad!"

Meg laughed, "Oh let him be."

"Aside from the flowers what is in that note?"

"That is for my friend from his brother," she answered.

"Meg, you are not deceiving me with this? I fear he is sending you notes!"

"Don't you trust me? She confronted him.

You yes… him…like hell…excuse my language," he blushed.

"Please show me the note… You make him feel ancient…perhaps, because he is! The old goat!" He continued to rant.

"He is not that old Eduard"

"He must be at least forty but perhaps that is to your liking," he sulked.

"You silly man" she reached on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the lips.

He walked behind her and pressed her to him. "Come to supper with me." He said, nuzzling her hair.

"It is late, Maman will not allow me at this time," she reminded him.

I know…but tomorrow I will come to take you," he said, with a small bow, and a flourish of his hand. "To take you, and your dear Maman, to a luncheon," he added.

"Can we go to the park after?"

"Of course you pick the park and I will take you…both" he sighs grinning. "Before I leave you, please let me see that note or I will not sleep tonight."

"Stop your impertinence. I will not show you the note. It is not mine to show. That is all you need to know." With that, she shoved him out of her dressing room just as Madame Giry appeared. "Madame," he bowed deeply, and rushed away.

**---------------------------------------o**

"Are you happy Christine? Living here with me?" He did not give her an opportunity to answer. "You make me so happy, I would loath to deny you the same."

They sat in the library having their afternoon tea. She looked up from her cup wondering what had prompted this. The mask covered most of his expression, but she could see his mouth was set in a straight line, his hands, holding on tightly to the chair armrests, he was tense. "I am fine Erik, especially since I can now visit with my friends. I enjoy that very much."

"Well…" _Of course, she could not say she is happy with me… How could she be happy living with a corpse, entombed by force in these cellars? I cannot give her up. Wish that I could for her sake! So, if she must suffer my company, then I must make sure to let her have her relief, and let her visit with her friends often._

"Finish your tea Erik you only had one cup," she told him. She thought he looked handsome in his new afternoon suit. Like all his garments, it was cut to hide his thinness.

"I will if you sit by me. We can both look at our photographs again," he offered. _She must be bored down here with the likes of me for company. What can I offer her but my books and music?_

"Oh yes I would love that," she sat on a low stool by his side, poured his cup of tea, and handed it to him. "Here's your cup."

"Thank you Christine. You are joining me in one?" He asked her.

"I guess I could have a second cup myself," she answered, and poured a second cup for herself.

Pointing to Father Jules, he said with a smirk, "I wonder if it is a requirement to be portly in order to become a cleric."

"That is sacrilegious Erik! It was a beautiful ceremony," she looked at him, His mood had already changed; she always marveled at how mercurial his moods were. _Perhaps that is part of his charm_.

"I do not deny the man his talent," continued Erik. "The ceremony was exquisitely beautiful, but it does not alter the fact that he was indeed quite corpulent! The people starve, but the priests grow as fat as their coffers. Does that make sense?"

Ignoring his comment she pointed to her friend in the photograph, "Look at Meg," she said, pointing to the picture. "Her dress was so beautiful with all those tiny roses."

It was not lost on Erik that she changed the subject. He had already noticed that it was almost impossible to draw his beloved Christine into a serious discussion. He would have to regulate her instruction, and guide her reading with greater care.

"She did look very pretty," he said in agreement.

Christine felt slightly peeved that Erik would find another woman pretty, even her best friend but she felt guilty for feeling that way. She was sorry to have mentioned that point.

He continued, "I remember little Giry as a child. She was so silent, a proper little lady, always following her mother."

"She isn't quiet anymore," said Christine, remembering Meg's tirade the other night. She bit her lip and did not add, 'nor is she a little lady anymore.'

"I suppose not."

She wanted his attention off Meg, and back on their wedding photographs. "I had not truly realized how many people attended our wedding," she said, pointing to the group picture.

"It was more than I'd hoped for. Poor Pietro and Jean…such horrible deaths. Did I tell you that Big Pierre just up and left the Opera house? Last week I think it was," she informed him.

"Is that so," he said.

"If you had married the vicomte you would have had a bigger wedding party, not to mention where you would be living." He was sorry he had said it the moment it was out of his mouth. _Why did I have to mention the boy?_

She did not wish to hurt him, and so did not remind him he had taken any real choice away from her. "It would have been an immense affair, full of people I did not know." She a slight shudder shook her. "And every socialite would have been tearing me apart. I was comfortable with our wedding party. It was just the right size for me," she said truthfully.

"Sometimes I question those things I have deprived you of with my selfish adoration," he said. "But I am glad our wedding pleased you, my love."

She kissed his cheek just below the mask, and turned back to the photographs. "Look at our cake. It was over three foot tall was it not?" He nodded his assent. "And so delicious. I had never had such delicious profiteroles."

"We had such a beautiful wedding, Erik! Everything was so refined." Tears were stinging her eyes and she had no idea why this should make her cry. "Meg says they still talk about it upstairs."

"Exactly _who _talks about it?" He asked apprehensively, and turned to face her "Who…"

The alarm sounded. This one had a slightly different sound from the one in the tunnel used by Hafiz.

"What now for pity's sake?" Exclaimed Erik displeased!

"Could it be Hafiz?" asked Christine.

"In that tunnel? No, it is an internal tunnel. It has to be a rat that triggered the alarm," he told her.

"Maybe it's that friend of yours, that you keep so well hidden," she said tempting him to respond.

He said nothing to her comment, and got up stretching up to his full height. "I will have to go see," he said. He handed her the photographs, he was clearly irritated at the interference of his time with her. He stormed out the front entrance toward the lake.

For the first time since they were, married Erik left the front door open. Christine followed him out the door, and saw his tall dark form walk up a few steps; eventually fading away into the tunnel shadows. As he walked in, she could hear him cursing whilst he groped along trying to find a torch. She smiled at how easily he became frustrated, and annoyed. Christine had just turned back toward the house, when a thunderous sound made her revolve in her tracks. A huge blast of dust puffed out the tunnel, and then silence.

At that moment Christine's heart stopped. Her mouth opened but she could not move. "Erik?" She whispered. "Erik?" She repeated a little louder, and rushed to the tunnel entrance. The darkness and silence was entombing. "Erik!" She called again yelling this time, her mouth dry. She felt light-headed, and had to hold herself up on the wall_. This cannot be happening!_ Her legs were trembling so much; she could not move another step. "Erik, please!" Images of Erik flooded her mind, his golden eyes following her around their home, Erik in the kitchen squirreling away his cookies when he thought she couldn't see him, curled up on the rug in her room, and nervously returning her kisses, the images whorled around in her head. _It can't be_. She waited to hear his voice booming in the tunnel. _He will come out cursing and damning half the world!_ She tried to smile at the thought, but her stomach turned. It seemed as if there was no air in the cellars. Her heart raced, and she feared suffocation. She took a gulp of air. _Oh, God I cannot lose him! Erik, I need you! _Her entire body felt cold, and she slid down onto the steps. _Don't be dead, please, please! She remembered Meg's words from her last visit she was spoiled! Even now, she expected him save himself, to get out, to come to her. _From her very center, she found a kernel of strength that was new to her. "Erik!" She began to shout. "Erik! Her voice grew stronger. "Erik!" _Maybe if he can hear me, he will find his way out._ "ERIK!" _He would be so upset if I hurt my throat! What do I care about singing if I do not have him? _Christine walked up the steps to the tunnel entrance, and began to remove fallen rocks from the top to let some air in. She wasn't sure how helpful that was, but if he had to move one less rock to come back to her she would gladly move it for him."ERIK!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs, stopping only to remove the small rocks she could carry.

---------------------------------------------------------------o

He never used this tunnel because of its narrowness. It led to the lower cellars. He cursed himself for not checking it more carefully. Who knew what structural damage it had sustained during the reign of the Commune? His torch burned brightly; behind him, the section leading to the lower cellars was blocked. He could see that a part of the tunnel near the entrance had also collapsed. _Now, I have to dig my way out through that ruble in my new suit. _He could barely get a breath in, without dust entering his lungs. The closer he got to the entrance the thicker the air was with dust. The grit was in his mouth; his eyes were beginning to bother him as well, when he heard his name. Christine was calling for him! In his annoyance, he had left the door open, but instead of running away, she was calling for him. He did not dare call out to her fearing that the vibration from his voice would cause another collapse.

Even through his gritty, tearing eyes, he could see the entrance clearly. Erik removed the fallen rocks, rolling away the largest stones. The tunnel shifted again, and he had to dash under the footing so the new rocks would not fall on him. When it seemed that the tunnel stabilized, he went back to picking up rocks with his hands, and throwing them behind him. He did not dare think of the damage to his fingertips. His torch was burning down. Sweat beads formed on his face. He took off his jacket and the mask to see what he was doing. After awhile he had made just enough space to fit through to the hole. He dared not take longer for fear of the tunnel's instability. If his clothing caught on a rock, it could cause another rock fall. He took off his jacket and waistcoat. "Erik!" He could hear her voice clearly now. He heard sobs as well, and his heart swelled. He took off his shirt and shoes as well. _She should know better than to carry on like that. She is going to hurt her throat!_ A smile spread on his face. The sweat pouring off his body would help make him slicker. Thanks to his being so thin, he was able to fit between the ruble, and the space at the top of the tunnel. Even with the gloves on, he could feel the rocks tearing into his hands as he dragged himself through. He gritted his teeth, and pulled himself over the jagged stones. _The mask!_ Too late, there was nothing he could do now. Going back would ensure another collapse. All the while, her cries and sobs gave him the strength he needed to get himself out of the tunnel. He continued crawling through the crevice he'd made. At the entrance, he positioned himself at the top of the pile. He felt a tremble in the tunnel and allowed himself to roll down the pile of ruble, almost crashing into Christine. He landed on his back wheezing and coughing.

"Erik!" He looked up to see her pale face hovering above him wide eyed. She looked shocked at his sudden appearance.

"I'm sorry I left it behind…" He tried to hide his face from her.

He was unable to finish speaking as she was all over him, hugging, kissing him, and laughing all at once. It was his turn to be shocked.

"Are you all right?" She asked him, touching his naked torso for damage.

"I'm …fine… Chris… tine… really." He stammered, trying to catch his breath.

She hugged him again, and kissed his face. She held him so tight it hurt his tired muscles. "Come, come inside." She pulled him up, and they both entered their home again.

Erik could barely believe that when given the chance Christine had not run away. Now, she was kissing his face without the mask. She was putting her beautiful lips to his monster's face. _How can this be? I am disgusting, and yet she acts as if I were normal. As if, my face was touchable by human hands. One thing was to brush his lips in a euphoric kiss of kindness. It was quite another to kiss his the flesh of a repulsive living corpse. _

Surprisingly she clung to him as they walked, as if he would disappear into the tunnel again. She had one arm around his waist, her head on his shoulder, and the other arm holding his neck. His arms were dangling wearily by his side. In this manner, they walked into the kitchen.

She made him sit on a stool while she got the hot water, soap, and rags. When she returned he was still seating on the stool a little hunched over coughing deeply. On closer inspection, she saw that he had tiny scratches all over but they did not look serious. She had never seen him without a shirt before. She noticed how thin, he really was. His shoulder blades protruded at the top. His ribs were evident in both the front, and the back. Each vertebra of the spinal column protruded from his back reminding her of an ancient creature she had seen in one of Erik's books. She made him hold his hands out in front of him, the tattered gloves hung from his fingertips. The sharp rocks had torn his gloves mercilessly but had saved his hands.

She approached him with a basin of water when he saw her red hands, the nails worn down by the constant picking up of rocks. "Christine, what happened?" He held them up for inspection.

She shrugged. "I needed to help you. I was terrified you might not… come back." She slipped off the remnants of his gloves of his hands. Shaking his head, he dipped her hands in the basin and gently wet them. He soaped her hands careful not to hurt her fingertips. His long soapy fingers slid up her wrist, and around her palms. He stroked the soft part between her fingers. He went over each fingertip smoothing the skin, allowing the soothing warm water to ease her raw flesh. She winced, and he stopped, giving her time to adjust to his touch. He continued getting all the dirt off her hands.

His face was covered in dust but she did not wash his face, and so he figured that would be too much for her, too much contact. He stood up.

"Where are you going Erik?" she asked him.

"To get a shirt, and to…" He had to stop as a bout of coughing took his breath. "To get a… another mask," he coughed.

"Just sit down Erik," she said, tiredness beginning to catch up with her. How could he think to put a mask over his face like that? Her husband might be a genius but at times, he lacked common sense.

She approached him with her cloth. "You do not have to do that Christine. It is enough." A hacking cough overtook him. She patted his back until the spasm ceased. She took his hand, and led him back to the kitchen stool. She had brought him a basin full of water that he could dip his face. He kept his eyes open, and put his head in swishing it around in the cool water.

She had seen his face many times now, and aside from the first time, so long ago; her reaction had always been compassionate, and kind. Yet he was unable to watch her eyes as she beheld his face up close. He felt her breath on his face. He was astounded that she could look and, touch him for so long, and not feel ill. Erik began to cough again as she dried off his face. When finished she bent down, and kissed his cheek. Her lips slid to the corner of his mouth, and she kissed him there as well. He was glad for the stool or he would have embarrassed himself, and swooned from her kisses. She had hurt her hands trying to help him instead of running away. Now she braved seeing his face yet again, his Christine was nothing short of amazing.

"All done" she smiled.

He got up towering over her. "And by the way, how could you risk damaging your vocal cords with all that yelling?" he reprimanded her.

"Oh Erik, what a time to think of that!" She said, smiling at his predictable nature.

"Priorities, my dear, priorities!" He said with a shake of his head. I will return in a moment I need to retrieve another…"

She knew what he was getting before he finished speaking. "No Erik, no more masks. Not at home," she pleaded.

"I can't walk around…" he stopped to cough.

"Before we married didn't you walk around without a mask?" She asked.

"Yes, but I was alone. I could not offend anyone," he coughed. "Unless, I passed in front of a mirror," he grinned slightly at his own joke.

She did not share the joke, and remained serious. "I will not be happy if my husband feels the need to hide from me," she told him.

"It is for your comfort, that," he stopped for another coughing episode. "I wear the mask."

"You need not bother, since it is the mask that takes away my comfort," she declared, placing her palm softly on his ghastly cheek.

"I cannot," he said shaking his head. "I cannot just walk around, without a mask on, as if I were normal. I am tied to this accursed thing as much as it is tied to me!"

"If my feelings do not count with you then do what pleases you most," she whispered, looking away from him.

He did not know what to say, that was the opposite of what he wanted. He wanted her to be happy and comfortable with him. _Why would she not want me to spare herself from this ghastly visage?_

"Christine, I…" he began to cough again.

Even if thin, he was so much taller, and broader than she was. Christine looked up at him allowing him to see in her eyes all the pain she had just gone through. "Please, no mask, not in our home," she pleaded, sighing.

"It is not that Christine. I just…" He was bewildered; his wife wanted him to remain uncovered in front of her. She was willing to put up with his hideousness. Her kindness astonished him. "I will do as you wish my love," he managed to cough out. "But if it should begin to disturb you, do not hesitate to let me know. It would not hurt me." _Liar, if she withdrew her kindness and acceptance you would want to cease existing. _Although he felt uncertain, he would acquiesce to her demand.

"Come then," she said, taking a hold of his waist. She gave him a warm smile. "You must be exhausted, and need your rest."

The determined look in her eyes deterred him from arguing further. He did feel exhausted, and went straight to his rug.

"Oh Erik, not there…" The sorrow in her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"What now?" He asked wondering what other change his wife would want now.

She pulled him toward her bed.

"I can't Christine," he coughed. "I will be fine right here," he pointed to the rug.

"And you would leave me in bed, all alone, when I feel so nervous?" She asked in her sweetest voice.

"Christine…it is too much. How could I… "

"Erik, you are my husband! Come to bed," she pulled, and pushed him until he was sitting on her bed. "Lay down, Erik," she insisted. "Stay by me tonight, I still feel quite shaken."

"Christine, I…" a fit of cough interrupted him. She rubbed his back while he caught his breath again.

"That cough worries me. Let me take care of you tonight."

It felt wonderful to have her touch him with such concern. He would remain in the bed with her, if only one night… perhaps he could remain until she cringed away from him as she was bound to do, and that day he would crawl away and die.

_She wants to take care of me_. It was a first in his life. His eyes watered, and he averted his face.

"Are you all right Erik?"

"I'm fine, except for this," he said, through another coughing fit, "this…damned coughing!"

"I know it's bad. You will find comfort when you sleep by my side."

_Innocent child, who could sleep lying by your side? Even an eunuch would resurrect that which was lost to him. And, I am no eunuch! _"I inhaled a great deal of dust," he coughed again, "...in there, do not worry."

"You really scared me. Don't ever do that to me again!" She said, and gave him a brief hug.

"Did it really scare you to think that I…" He stopped to cough again, "that I might not come back?" _Is it possible? Could she…_ Erik shook his head against his thoughts. He dared not contemplate on what was undeniably a phantasm of his mind; a wish never to be uttered.

"More than I have ever been in all my life," she answered fervently.

"Why?" He asked. Against his will his hope rose.

"Open," she ordered, and gave him a teaspoon of honey. "This will help you with that cough." She got into bed.

"Christine, you didn't answer my…"

"Good night Erik," she replied, blowing out the candle.

_What kind of an answer is that? Moreover, why would that make her blush_ Even now, that he was a married man, women were still a total mystery, and as baffling as ever.

After another bout of coughing, she felt her husband settle down, and lean back against the pillows. Christine smiled, turned over, and fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10 Sunday Ride

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: Thank you to all my readers. I hope you are enjoying the story.Thank you to all my Chapter 9 reviewers: Mildetryst, Litchick84, Shadowfox Forever, Ripper de la Blackstaff, de musik van der nacht, Quiet 2885, Lisa Butler, Christine06, Pink Spider 11, Sarah Crawford (100th reviewer), Phantomtears (Thank you for being so supportive!), neko-chan, Mara, Gerryphan, Phan girl, xScarlet Musex. Sue Raven. To my non-registered reviewers, please leave me an e-mail so that if you ask me a question I can answer.**

**Chapter 10**

**Sunday Ride **

No one had ever wanted to take care of him. He had always enjoyed good health, but when injured he had had to take care of himself. Two years before when he had suffered with bronchitis, he had suffered the high fevers in his underground home alone. Now he had a wife who wanted to take care of him and he was not even sick! All he had was a slight cough due to inhaling some dust during the tunnel collapse. He had once walked over a mile in the dessert with a knife wound in his side, and had survived beatings meant for a man since he was a child. He was no newcomer to pain. Christine was acting silly, and fussing all over him. He did not know what to do. All that attention embarrassed him. Mostly, he did not want to hurt her feelings, so he relented, and allowed her ministrations. He had even agreed to be without a mask during their music sessions since he did not face her directly, and the most difficult of all, during breakfast.

The smell of honey nauseated him now. Since the tunnel incident, she had poured more than a pint of honey down his throat. He was terrified of making any type of noise that she might construe as a cough. Yet he knew that if she stood in front of him with her concerned eyes, and offered him a spoon filled with honey, his mouth would open, and he would swallow the vile sticky substance with a smile.

Erik enjoyed their new sleeping arrangements. He had never felt happier than when he lay down next to Christine on her bed. She was always the one to remove his mask placing it on the night table. Unbeknown to her she could not have undressed him more whenever she did that. He talked to her in the dark, and she told him of her childhood adventures with her father. Each during their own time, their lives had paralleled in that they had both worked as entertainers in traveling fairs. She knew more of the world than most young ladies her age did, having visited several countries, and spoken to hundreds of strangers who sought to listen to her sweet voice, and watch her exquisite face. She was also familiar with her native Swedish as well as French, and a little Spanish she had picked up from the gypsy bands of Andalusia.

There was no doubt that she was born in Sweden. Her father's ancestry was unknown, and from the daguerreotype she showed Erik of her father, he looked more Slavic that anything else. Her mother on the other hand was probably Swedish, but there was no one left to confirm the fact, which left the origins of her extraordinary beauty up in the air. Her figure was slight, her lips full, and her eyes though wide, had a mysterious slant to them.

Christine was a rough sleeper. She turned, tossed, pushed, kicked, shoved, and hit as she slumbered, keeping an angelic look on her face through the night. He did not sleep any better for being in her bed, but for the long hours of lying in bed he was always rewarded by an errant hand on his a knee or thigh. Once her arm insolently escaped, and she slapped his face with the back of her hand breaking the thin skin on his cheekbone. In pain, he lay still under her knuckles unwilling to break the contact. The blood trickled down the side of his face to pool on his collarbone. Next day he had made up some excuse about the bruising when she questioned him. Throughout the years, he had heard other men complaining about how their wives were rough sleepers. How these men suffered when their wives would pummel them in the middle of the night. Erik sneered at their weakness. It seemed his Christine was also a rough sleeper, and this was what happened to married men in bed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------o

After the second week, he knew had to put a stop to her fussing. An idea came to him. He walked out of the bedroom yelling.

"Christine, get your shawl."

"Whatever for I'm not cold," she said.

"Get your shawl now!" He repeated himself.

She started to walk toward her room "Fine, but I am not cold."

"I need fresh air for… this cough. We are going out!" He commanded.

"Outside?" Her eyes widened with excitement. "Are you sure you are up to it?"

"Yes, now allow me to help you with your shawl," he said, holding her lace shawl and wrapping her shoulders with it. Her shoulders felts wonderfully warm under his hands.

"Where are we going? I need to change," she said, her excitement growing with each breath.

"No time," he put his jacket on.

"But I am not dressed to go in the street. This is a house dress."

"Christine who would notice your dress with your exquisite beauty on display?" He took her elbow, leading her toward the lake.

"Every woman would!" She answered, chagrined not to be able to wear the appropriate garment for this occasion.

-----------------------------------------------------------o

Erik sat next to her on the seat of the Brougham. He opened the window to allow the fresh air to enter the stuffy carriage. They had not been out on a carriage ride since before they were married. Months before, as his pupil, he had taken her out a few times, but a chance meeting with the vicomte had put a quick stop to those rides. She had been merely his pupil then. Things were different now she was his wife. He had the right to take her out wherever he pleased. The horses clopped along at a walk. He saw her look out the window as they passed places of interest to her, made little comments about a fountain or monument she liked. Her hand lay on the seat between them; he covered it with his, and held his breath. Erik expected her to move her hand away, if not at first then as soon as possible. He was surprised that not only did she not move her hand away, but rather, she turned it over so that her palm faced his. He exhaled, and was unable to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the ride. It frustrated him that he had to wear gloves.

On their way down the Champ Elisées she called out, "Oh look Erik! We are nearing the Tuileries. Can we go into the park?" He looked out the window and saw a sea of carriages some small governess carts, cabriolets, large coaches and Broughams like theirs heading the same way.

"We can go wherever my wife wishes to go," he answered.

It came to him in a flash that it was Sunday, and he was riding with his wife in a carriage on his way to the park, just as he had always wanted to do, just like any other man.

---------------------------------------------------------------o

It took her two months, but she had worn him down. Eduard had agreed to take a daytime carriage ride with her. It was tantamount to a public declaration of courting. He had consented to take her out in public. Meg wore her pink carriage dress with the lacy collar. She loved it even more after Christine said she looked demure in it. She wanted to look like a lady sitting next to her Count. Eduard looked stylish as always, in a light colored suit.

"We are in a park, the sun is shining, why do you have to look so serious?" she asked him.

He patted her hand on his arm. "If you had the problems I do, you would not be asking me that," he said quietly, maintaining his grave visage, his eyes darting back and forth.

"If I had the problems you have, I would solve them," she answered.

"My sweet girl, do you really think things are so easily resolved?" He abruptly turned toward her.

"If you…" Meg suddenly felt a hand at the back of her head pushing her down. She lost her balance, and fell toward the cab floor.

"Stay down… Christ! It's my brother!" He stammered.

She heard him give the driver three hits on the side, and the carriage lurched forward, his hand still pushing down on her head.

"He's gone, come up," he picked her up by her waist, and pulled her up on the seat. The front of her dress was muddied; she saw that he had noticed as well, but he looked away red faced.

"And that is one of my problems," he said, pointing behind them toward a man in a tall hat.

"If they find out about us, I'll lose everything."

"Everything?" She questioned him narrowing her eyes.

"Yes, how many times must I explain it? I only have my father's pitiful inheritance. If I step out of line…I will lose my mother's support. Oh God, how I suffer this impossible situation!" He said desperation raw in his voice.

"I suppose you think it is easy for me," she said, dabbing at her eyes before the teardrops formed.

"I know cannot be easy Meg. I'm so sorry."

"You couldn't possibly work, and show them you are an independent man of course," she said through gritted teeth.

"What do I know how to do?" He whined. "I was never prepared to do anything?"

"Why, you can do the same thing you do now my darling… beg!" She spat at him.

His eyes widened and she saw him blush furiously, but he did not answer, he looked ahead as did she until they arrived at the grand entrance to the Opera House.

-------------------------------------------o

Riding through a park in Paris was not like being in the country. Traffic was congested and the number of people astounding. Christine mentioned being disappointed that she knew no one. Although he wore his most lifelike mask, he was glad not to have encountered a known soul. By the time, they returned the gas lights along the Champ Elysées were lit up, and the entire Avenue was bathed in a romantic glow. Couples sat in the open-air café's or strolled down the concourse. She placed her head on his shoulder, and he leaned into her.

"Can we visit Mama Valerius next time we're out?" She asked him.

"Of course, if it is your wish."

"I am glad you did not cough once. Maybe we should go out more often." She sighed,

All the time they were riding, she had not once disengaged her hand from his. Only upon their return home, did he disengage them to help her descend the carriage. At once, he placed her hand over his arm to walk into the Opera House via the Rue Scribe.

Christine had loved their carriage ride, but hated the mask he wore. It had an expressionless face that she found disturbing when he turned toward her. Whenever she looked his way, she felt as if a stranger sat next to her. She held on to his gloved bony hand to assure herself it was he. When his voice emanated from behind the strange face, and she stilled, relaxing into the usual security found in his voice. She could hardly wait until he took her out again.

----------------------------------------------o

Breakfast was hell! They had an agreement that after she took the mask off at bedtime, he would not don the mask again until breakfast was over. Erik found it a grueling to sit at the table with his face unmasked; he remembered his mother's reaction every second he sat there. He felt he had to endure this. He was married, there were certain civilities he would have to observe, and this was one of them.

Christine had insisted on cooking meals for him while she considered him "ill." Once he released himself from her care, he found that he had to share the kitchen with her. At first, he had been incensed, to have her meddling while he was trying to make them a meal, but he learned to enjoy cooking their meals together. Somehow, she managed to keep breakfast as her exclusive domain.

Sitting in front of her without his mask had been humiliating. The first time they sat down, she had been sick. He had wanted to run to the bedroom, and snatch up his mask. Only having given her his word kept him at the table that day. She had returned to the table, and sat down. Acting as if nothing were amiss she tucked into her breakfast. She was so calm while she ate that it made him wonder if he had not imagined the regurgitative sounds. His Christine was such a good girl.

"Here's your breakfast," she set the food in front of him, and sat opposite him with a similar plate.

He began to eat his breakfast keeping his head as far down as he could. He filled his mouth with eggs, and chewed on several pieces of ham with unusual hunger.

"You're eating well today," she grinned.

"It is especially good Christine," he said, and stuffed his mouth again.

She snorted, but looked pleased.

"I'll get you a little more of the potatoes," she got up, and brought the pot to the table.

"Just a little more, thank you."

"If you ate like this more often you would gain a few pounds. You're very thin you know," she added.

"Yes I know." _What an absolutely atrocious habit healthy, beautiful people had! Why does she, and others like her, seem to feel an irresistible need to inform others like him, about the state of their bodies, as if the owners were completely oblivious to the state of their weight, health, and looks?_

"Here," she said setting a small dish of the potatoes in front of Erik. He was full but he did not want to refuse them. She sat opposite to finish her own breakfast. She kept looking up at his plate with a satisfied look on her face. He noticed she did not bring her eyes up to his face.

The first day he sat in front of her, she could barely eat. Even the light ochre of his skin was nauseating. The spectral appearance of the rest of the face did not help. She left the table twice, once to get him seconds. Once she went to her room with the excuse of fixing an undergarment. She retched upon entering the bathroom, hoping he could not hear her. She put fresh water on her face, and went out with a smile. She would not hurt Erik's feelings so she sat in front of her food and swallowed what she could.

Christine felt exhausted. The days were passing, and her appointed meeting with Raoul drew closer. It was over, and Raoul had to accept it. All her notes had said the same thing. She was now married, and could never be with him again. All his notes said the same thing. He would come for her and save her from Erik. What if Raoul charges down here with half the Paris police? Where would they hide? How would she protect her husband?

"Are you alright my dear?" Erik looked up slightly, and watched her. He seemed to frown a little, but kept on eating.

"I am fine. I am just going over my list of things to do. Did you realize we are running out of cleaning soap again?" She rambled, feeling guilty for having thought of Raoul in Erik's presence.

She had to meet with Raoul, and end this. She would not jeopardize what she had. For the first time in her life, she had a permanent home. Even her father had not been able to provide that. The closest she had gotten to that was with Mama Valerius. She had a home, with a husband who adored her. A husband, she was coming to love as well.

-------------------------------------------------o

Christine walked into the library to find him reading a letter.

"I didn't know you received correspondence," she said, looking at him sweetly.

"Why should I not receive correspondence? Am I not like other men who know people who would write to them? I am not a ghost or an angel, but a man of flesh and blood," he barked. "I had a life outside these walls before I met you, and have known many people throughout my life." Erik spat at her, and began to fold up his letter.

She cringed under the barrage. She was unsure whether to run, or make herself as small as possible and ball up in a corner.

"I am sorry Erik," she managed to say in a trembling voice. "My silly comment was… not intended as you thought."

He noticed how pale she had become, and cursed his temper. "No matter, I apologize for raising my voice, and frightening you."

"I…I was frighten a little," she said, in a small voice.

"I will be gone for a few days," he said, seeking to make her feel better. Erik feared her reaction. Would she run to hoot, and dance or would she pack, and wait for him at the lake's edge eagerly awaiting her deliverance. He braced himself for her glee.

"Where are we going?" She asked smiling, color returning to her cheeks.

_Poor girl she still does not understand that she will be free of me for a few days._ "I apologize yet again my dear, but I need to travel alone"

She felt a complete fool when she felt her eyes filled up. "Oh," she said, turning her face from him as she wipes an errant tear.

"You will remain with Madame Giry. I will make the arrangements." Her reaction completely confused him. _Is it possible she does not want me to go?_

"Why can't I remain here in our home?"

"Absolutely not! Our home is safe only if you are with me… in which case it is the safest! …what manner of husband would I be if I left you alone for days; five stories under ground?"

"Days! How long will you be gone?" She asked, fresh tears stinging her eyes.

"Two or three days." _I am giving her a temporary reprieve. Why would she be reluctant to take it?_

"May I know where my husband is traveling to?" She asked stiffly. Hurt crept into her tone.

She looked dejected, which was to him surprising. "Near Rouen, to visit an old acquaintance," he answered.

"I see," she pursed her lips. "Will you be leaving immediately?"

"Tomorrow," he informed her tentatively.

"May I go pack now?" She asked, running toward the bedroom, and slamming the door behind her.

Erik shook his head as he walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a large brandy. He glugged it down until the glass was empty. He sat with a second one admiring its golden hues; it was one of his favorites, an amontillado. _Damn that girl!_ Why did she not ever do anything he thought she would do?

That night she watched him pack from the bed. He took his best suits, both black. He also took his burgundy waistcoat and the fancy grey and gold that he had worn for their wedding. "Are you completely packed Christine?" She did not answer; he assumed she had fallen asleep since her eyes remained closed.

_He is already bored with me, and wishes to be off to his travels again. His life before coming to the Opera House was so much more exciting. She turned over so he would not see her tears dropping on the pillow. _

When he was finished packing, he put out the candle, and slipped into bed. She always removed his mask, so left it on_. If you wish to sleep with me without a mask then you have to take it off_.

In the dark, she put her hand on his face, and felt the mask on. Silently she slipped it off.

"I thought you were asleep," he commented.

She did not answer but kept her hand on his face gingerly touching every protruding bone, every raised vein. Her fingers, memorized his face. _This may be the last time I do this. _

Tears slipped out from under her eyelashes, and blending with the darkness they seeped into the pillow unnoticed.

-------------------------------------------------------o

He stood at the entrance to the cellars, still hidden by shadows; he took out the letter again, and reread it.

Dear Erik,

It would please me, if you would spend a few days with me, in this your home also. We must share many conversations that a letter would render wordy. Allow me to say my piece, and then you can make your own accounts. I will send the carriage for you on Thursday morning. It will be stationed outside your main door.

Your father

He turned it over in his hand admiring the fine linen paper. _Even the ink is of high quality_! He placed it in his pocket once more.

Erik stepped out onto the Rue Scribe. His cape snapped in the wind alerting the coachmen of his presence. The black mask covered his face. He blinked hard at the bright light. It was a sunny cloudless day. Just to the side of the street the black Landau waited for him. Erik noticed the emblem on the side and snorted. As he neared the carriage two uniformed men bowed, one opened the carriage door. A hand appeared to help him up. He ignored the hand, and swung himself onto the seat slowly sinking into its plush comfort. The interior was dark burgundy velvet and leather. _So, this is how he lives! He will miss it in the next life. _As the carriage lurched forward, he put his hand under his cape, and assured himself of the lasso's presence. _Not unreasonable, it only took him 42 years to recognize me as his son. It will take two seconds for me to sever the relationship, not unreasonable either._

---------------------------------o


	11. Chapter 11 New Horizons

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: Thank to all my readers. Thank you to my Chapter 10 reviewers: Shadow fox forever, myldetryst, letthedreamdescend, Sarah Crawford, Silent Phantasy, Sue Raven, Ripper de la Blackstaff, neko-chan, Phantomangel132, Christine06, Virginie, XScarlet MuseX , Megumi sakura.**

**Reminder: If you are not registered with ff . net, include an e-mail. I would love to get back to you. **

**Chapter 11**

**New Horizons**

He was impressed, not by the opulence, for he had seen greater in the palaces in both Persia, and Constantinople, but by the fact that it belonged to the man who had sired him. Years ago, when he returned from his travels he had seen his mother again. She was older, worn-out, but less fearful of him. Her husband had abandoned her for a curvy chambermaid. They sat down and talked. She told Erik of his origins. She had been pregnant when she married. His father had been a young nobleman in the Manor she worked in. The young man's father had selected her to bed his son because she was experienced. Erik had been terribly embarrassed hearing the story, and had hoped she would not go into details. Apparently, his mother had also been embarrassed, and glossed over most of the story.

Erik did not have a high regard for the concept of fatherhood. Pascal, his mother's husband, or his father, as he had always known him had hated him. He understood, but had not forgiven the man's attitude towards him, after he heard his mother's story. As a child, he had treated him like a stranger, and beaten him like a dog. He was the first to use the word beast to refer to him. The words father and pain inexorably linked together. Here he was so many years later he was about to meet his real father. His hand tightened over the lasso in his cape.

He was not the first bastard sired, and abandoned by an aristocrat, nor would he be the last, that was not why he fingered his lasso, as he stood in the mansion's foyer. When his mother first told him the man's name, he was taken aback. He was known as one of the "Darlings" of Parisian life, although he was from Rouen. For years, his exploits had been at the center of the social page in the Époque. She said he had been nothing like that when she knew him. He had been an innocent boy back then.

After hearing her story, he had sought to know more about his true father. Luckily, for Erik, it was not difficult to find him. He frequented the Opera when in Paris, and like many other aristocrats, he frequented the dressing rooms after hours as well. It had been a shock to see the man when he peeked from behind a trap door. They shared the same height, build, chin, lips, and dark hair. It disturbed him to think he might have looked like that, had fate dealt him another hand. The man possessed handsome even features, not pretty like the vicomte, but manly with a faded scar or two, which told of past scrapes. Erik was fascinated, and yet repulsed by the man's attitude toward women. He had so many to choose from, he treated them like cargo. Nothing too valuable, and easily replaceable with the next shipping. Would he have been like that had he had that face? After a few years of watching him, Erik lost interest, and purposely ignored his fathers' exploits. What bothered Erik was that his callousness with women had extended to his mother. Had he kicked her out when she told him of her pregnancy, or did he use her right up until the end when she was too heavy with child to be of use to him? What chance did she have to claim anything from a powerful aristocrat? At last, he had his opportunity to even the score.

What he had found strange about his mother's recount was that at the end, she had insisted that he contact this man. She had even suggested that the nobleman would welcome him as his son. She gave him a small locket with her picture as a way to introduce himself. He did not laugh out of respect but thought her naiveté amusing. She truly believed a member of the nobility would welcome a deformed son born from one of his discarded servants. He ignored her advice, a man like that was not likely to remember a servant girl from his youth.

He was standing in a foyer large enough to serve as the living quarters of most Parisian households. At the far end, he saw a tall slim man walking toward him, his gait was relaxed; a broad grin crinkled his handsome face. This was the face he had seen many times years ago, chasing after the ballet brats in the Opera House. He was grayer now, but he still did not look old enough to be his father. Had the man not been the one to contact him he would have wondered if his mother had not made a mistake.

With the wave of a hand, the man dismissed the servants standing nearby. He came closer to; finally, they were alone in the grand foyer. He approached Erik, his eyes traveling over him from head to foot, and then lingered on the mask. _Throw it now. End his magnificent life!_ He would have to kill the coachmen outside. _Simple. _Making it out of the grounds unscathed would be tricky, but not impossible. _Do it Erik, now_!

"Erik!" The smooth voice called to him. "My God you are here!" The man stood five to six feet from him. Erik held the tightly coiled lasso. _Optimum distance!_ He placed his fingers in place around the catgut.

_His eyes! They are like mine_! How had he missed that before?

Louis covered the distance between them, and held his hand out. "I have been a nervous wreck all day thinking you might not come."

Erik kept his hands in his pockets while eyeing this icon of Parisian gallantry.

"My God!" Louis stared at the mask.

Erik's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I…I am your father." The extended hand lowered, but the smile remained on his both lips and eyes.

"How the hell would you know…? I am wearing a mask."

"I imagine it is not a fashion statement. You wear it because… you have to. That is why I know I am your father." Louis stated simply.

Erik looked at him in confusion. "Explain yourself sir," he commanded.

"It will take long"

"I have all the time in the world…you on the other hand, should begin talking"

Erik noted that the man paled, catching his implied threat. _I will give him a few more minutes just to satisfy my curiosity_

"Let us begin again…I am Louis, Marquis ….

Erik interrupted him. "What makes you so sure that you are…?"

"Oh I know Erik, I know without a doubt, just like I know what is under your mask." Louis said, looking straight into his face. "I have not seen it, but I can guess you have your grandfather's face."

As soon as he heard, there was a masked man in the cellar his hopes had gone up. From Raoul's description of his fiancé's abductor Louis had guessed that the 'monster' Raoul described under the Opera House was the son he had sought for so long. He had looked for his son as soon as he found out about his existence some twenty years ago. A short investigation had yielded more, if inaccurate information. The report said that the man who lived under the Opera House was an uncouth heathen, a beast. The man he had expected to arrive at his door would have been a completely uncivilized being that he would have needed to

convert into a man. He was shocked to say the least when a well dressed; man who looked like he belonged in the palace met him. His son was a well-spoken, obviously educated man. He felt confused, how could Cecile have educated this boy when she was barely literate herself? Why would he live in that abominable cellar? He might have met this man in any parlor, and they would have shared an interesting conversation, except for the mask under which he was certain lay his father's face!

"I can imagine your opinion of me. The aristocrat who has his fun with the servant, and then turns her out to the street." He sighed.

"Do you deny it?"

"In the most absolute terms," countered Louis, his eyes not wavering from Erik's eyes.

Erik took his hand out of his pocket, and said, "I will take a seat, and a brandy. And then you will explain to me why you had me come here."

He liked his son. A true autocrat! His grandfather would be proud!

"Come Erik, I have some of the best brandy in France." he swept in front of him with a soft manner.

They entered a room lined in warm woods the overstuffed leather chairs looked inviting.

His body ached after the long trip from Paris. _What the hell, I am here already. I will listen to his story, when he is finished, he will wear the necktie._ He stretched out in the chair, and made himself comfortable.

He offered him a snifter; Erik turned the warm glass in his hands

"It's an Armagnac, "offered Louis.

From the look Erik gave him, he gathered that not only had he known that but had expected it.

Erik examined the honey colored liquid in the snifter. "Eight years." He put the glass to his lips, tasting the liquid. "Maybe ten. It is good."

Louis was intrigued, not only had his son had guessed the correct age of the drink, but he sounded like he had tasted better. Getting to know his son was going to be interesting.

Erik wondered why this member of the nobility had sought him._ What does he want from me? Does he wish to hire me to do 'special work' for him, as the Shah had in Persia? Perhaps he wishes to offer me money for my silence. The Managers pay me 20,000fr. for peace. I should be able to get another 20,000Fr to keep this nobleman from having to affront a scandal._

"Do not hate him for he is as innocent as a babe," she had said. "Seek him out Erik; I heard the father is dead. He will welcome you. Give him this," she handed him a small gold locket. "He will understand." Her tired lifeless eyes looked beyond his face.

_Erik will not hate him mother, but I will take all I am owed. _He had made some rough calculations a few years ago._ It is a tidy sum he owes me._

He drank the golden liquid, with its fruity undertone. He had better in his cellar.

"You did not seem surprised when I said I was your…"

"It was not news"

"You knew?" asked his father.

"Yes"

"How?"

"My poor mother." Erik said, bitterness sipping into his voice.

"When? I thought she was… How is she? Where…" Louis asked in rapid succession.

"Dead," answered Erik, he saw his father pale. "8 years ago."

"Where have you been since then? Why did you not come to me if you knew?

Erik sat tapping his fingers on the armrest; he was becoming annoyed with all the questions.

"More questions?" He asked sharply. "I though, I was to be the one posing the questions," Erik added.

He held up the locket, the older man's breath caught. Louis took the small oval in his trembling hands, and he turned the locket over. A secret compartment opened. Erik had had the locket over eight years now, and had never discovered this compartment. Frankly, he had not even thought to look. The older man looked up, and cocked his head; He extracted a note, and a few strands of hair. He gingerly touched the plaited strands of light colored hair, and replaced them; he unfolded the note.

_This is your son. He is Erik! _

He closed his eyes, put the note to his nose, and inhaled deeply. His lip curled slightly. Louis closed the note, and put it in his pocket. He opened the locket again and stared at a portrait of a young Cecile. He snapped it close, and handed it to Erik.

"What does the note say?"

"It says you are my son, and… your name."

Erik's curiosity was peaked. "How did you know that compartment was there?"

"I gave her that locket… it was my grandmother's."

Every part of his conversation with his mother made sense now. "You're the boy! You were a boy … at the time."

"Yes I was thirteen or fourteen the first time he sent her into my room."

For the first time in years, Erik was speechless.

"I was only supposed to use her, but I fell in love. How could I not… she was at least ten years older, beautiful, experienced. The thing is… I believe she came to love me too. The year after… she was removed, before I found out that she was carrying you. I was told she left that was all."

"I suppose the decision…"

"The _order_ came from my father. She was sent somewhere,"

"To Lyons de la Foret, where I was born." Erik informed him. "She worked in the manor."

"So close? It never occurred to me…" he sighed deeply, and sat back.

Louis pointed to Erik's mask "May I see?"

"No!" He composed himself and continued. "Did you hate him?"

Louis shook his head. "Despite everything, I loved, my father very much. He always wanted what he thought was best for me. It is not his fault that he did not have a clue what that was. He was a prisoner here so he made me a man of the world after his dreams, and desires. All I ever wanted was to lead a quiet life to have a family. He wanted to live through me, I wanted to please him, and in the end we were both very frustrated."

-------------------------------------------o

Christine sat having dinner with Mm Giry and Meg. She was feeling abandoned and now she would have to live on charity until he returned. Perhaps this was his way of getting rid of her. She had a little saved up from her performances. It was not much but it would have to do. She knew she had displeased him when she made the comment about the note. _The note! Who wrote to him, that he would need to rush off like that? Could it have been a woman? A former lover reclaiming rights to her husband? _Christine was unable to take another bite. She had worked herself up to a nervous wreck.

"Thank you for having me Madame Giry."

"You know you are always welcome."

"These are going to be the best three days ever," interrupted Meg.

The old woman shook her head and began to gather the dinner plates.

"You barely touched your dinner Christine"

"I'll bet she misses her husband." Meg teased.

"Let me help with the dishes" Christine's heart constricted at her friend's comment. She rose from the table and began to pick up dishes.

Madame Giry took them out of her hands. "No, your husband does not want you to do…well; he does not want you to lift a finger except to enjoy yourself. You know how strict he is."

"He wants me to enjoy myself?"

"Yes, sweetheart, he left more than enough for your shopping needs, rides, restaurants, tea houses, whatever you want to do." A_nd, very specific instructions that you are never to be left alone._

Christine was surprised. She had assumed her stay with the Giry's was a punishment, to show her 'her place'. Did this mean Erik wasn't angry with her?

Settling back on her well-worn couch Madame Giry wiped a bit of food from the corner of her mouth with her finger, as she eyed the young girl across from her. She was a pretty thing, and talented, a little too shy perhaps. Mm Giry did not have a clue as to how Christine Daae had managed to get herself mixed up with the Opera Ghost much less how she ended up marrying the man. She knew the girl was an orphan who by some chance had met the vicomte de Chagny as a child. There had been some sort of liaison with the vicomte and then her disappearance and the sudden wedding. She had always liked her daughter's friend, and had encouraged a friendship with the modest singer. Once she knew the girl was the Ghost's protégé, she made sure the girls grew even closer. _A widow has to take advantage of every opportunity life offers._ For years now, the Ghost had offered these opportunities, and she took every one of them. She had herself a sweet deal caring for the Ghost's young wife. A little effort and kindness was paying off.

Madame asked her, "Are you happy Christine?

"No," she answered, tears welling up.

"Christine!" explained Meg in surprise.

Madame Giry also took in the girl's words in surprise. "Is he mean to you? Does he…"

Christine interrupted, wringing her hands. "It's not his doing. He treats me like a jewel. Erik is just wonderful."

"Then my dear? Do you still love the vicomte? Is that it?" The old woman asked.

"Oh no Madame, I mean, yes, I love Raoul. Just not like that. I don't think I ever did."

Meg's eyebrows shot up, but she kept her own counsel. They would be talking late into the night. Her friend had a lot of explaining to do.

"I don't understand," her host said.

"I have seen Erik cry when he thinks I'm not around."

"I wouldn't worry. He has a lot to cry about my dear. People have not… been accepting."

"I know about that but…he cries because of me."

"But he has you my dear. Why…"

"Madame, I accepted to marry Erik with…certain…restrictions."

"You did what?" Mm Giry gasped. "You mean…" Christine nodded her head "You deny him… his marital rights? Christine!" She said stiffly.

"I am a horrible person," Christine cried. "I know that every night I deny him, I confirm what everyone has always told him, that somehow he is less than human."

"How could you be so cruel girl?" Mm. Giry sat rigidly but tears moistened her eyelashes. The ghost had always done all right by her. Some times, he even left extra when Meg's dancing shoes began to look worn. She knew how besotted he was with his wife. _He deserves better if they ask me._

"I don't deny him really. He…he never asks, he never tries." She did not mention that until recently, he used to sleep on the rug by her bed, but the knowledge tugged at her heart.

"Did you think he would risk your rejection?" Mm. Giry asked.

"Oh Madame, I am so miserable." The tear flowed

"You cannot continue to do this to him… not if you value your marriage," The old woman added frowning.

"Madame, I don't want to. I did at first, because I was angry, and I thought I loved Raoul. That is over. I…I love him."

"And yet you deny him?" Was the girl simple, the older woman wondered?

"I don't know how to put an end to it. If I offer he will think me a wanton."

"You are his wife. It is your…obligation" The older woman insisted.

"I know, but I have not been able to extricate myself from my own foolish request," she said, shaking her head unable to look at Mm/ Giry in the eyes. Christine felt embarrassed.

"Every man needs a release, dear girl. Do you want him to do it with you or…" She saw the young girl's color rise. Meg also flushed a little. Obviously, she was late in having this conversation with her daughter. No matter, this would be the day.

"Oh that is awful!" Christine felt this confirmed her suspicions about the damned note.

"Well then? What is your choice?" Madame asked.

"You mean… it's possible… he might… this trip might be for… a release?" The thought of Erik in another woman's arms made the blood rush to her head. She felt sick. Her selfishness had driven him straight into another woman's bed. How could she hope to satisfy him when she was so ignorant in these matters? _Perhaps I have lost him for good._

"I would not doubt it. When a wife is not forthcoming men take little …side trips," Madame answered. She could see the hurt in Christine's eyes. It was a good lesson for the girl; it might even save her marriage.

"He wouldn't tell me where he was going," she moaned.

Mm. Giry laughed at the girl's naiveté. "Oh my dear, how could he?"

"Madame it's not amusing. How do I put an end to my own cruel game? I do not want my husband leaving me for some cheap floozy." She let them know her fears. Soon everyone would know that her husband had abandoned her. She would never survive the scandal, the pointing fingers, and the dying whispers as she approached. The world would know of her broken heart. She would be alone again.

"How you ask. How badly do you want to keep your husband?"

"I love him dearly. I will do anything to get my husband back." Christine said sincerely.

Mm. Giry moved in closely to Christine, and calmly began to whisper in her ear.

Christine felt the heat overcome her face. She kept her eyes on the floor, her lips pressed tightly together. She did not want to hear, but all the same, she listened intently, as the older woman shared her wisdom. Christine had never thought of Madame Giry as having a husband with whom she…

Meg's eyes were popping with curiosity. She would squeeze every juicy detail from her friend that night.

To Christine the older woman looked so dry, and devoid of womanhood, it was hard enough to place her as Meg's mother, never mind as a woman knowledgeable of men.

"Unlike you, my dear, I was never pretty so I had to have my womanly ways if you get my meaning," she said, accentuating her word by further wrinkling her forehead. "You have to know how to excite them, and get them wanting you so much, they think they're going to bust," she added, sucking on her one of her remaining front teeth. She leaned in again, and continued whispering to Christine.

Christine felt the heat travel from her face down her neck. Her eyes continued glued to the floor even as she wringed her hands raw. She took mental notes of every word Madame said to her. _I will not lose him because of my foolishness_.

Mm. Giry got up with determination, and walked to Christine's trunk. "Let's see what you will wear when he returns, my dear," she passed over cotton nightgowns, cotton bloomers, and loose chemises. "Nothing here will do. Tomorrow we go shopping." Madame Giry drew herself up to her full height. "I have not done this in 15 years, not since my husband died. But this is something a woman never forgets. And I was good at it," she laughed, "one of the best."

Christine kept quiet about the other problem; she would have to deal with it on her own. Although she felt horribly ashamed, she would not tell Madame that she could not make love to her husband because of his face. A face he could not help at birth, and for which every other human being had denied him love. That was their business, and her problem to deal with.

----------------------------------------o

They stood out side an elegant boutique in St-Germain-des-Pres. They were dressed appropriately. Christine wore a green afternoon frock with a matching hat, and Meg was in lilac, Madame Giry wore her usual black.

"Ah, _Madame _Jolïete's. Girls, this is the place." Madame Giry said, pushing the door open.

Madame Giry led the small party into the store. Her hat placed just so, high on her head, her shrunken cheeks surrounding a smile.

A slim well-dressed older woman greeted them. The woman gave the illusion of beauty. She was not truly beautiful and was many years past her prime, but it was obvious she took care of herself. "Well, it took you long enough to find my new store Danielle Giry. How long has it been?" The two women kissed.

Meg was shocked that her mother knew someone like this Madame Jolïete.

Mm. Giry smirked, "it is not for me you sassy woman… It's for this young thing."

Madame Jolïete eyed her new customer. "At her age, and with her looks, all she needs to do is….well."

"Oh" escaped from Christine's lips as her face heated up. Meg snorted and elbowed her friend.

"Is she a newlywed?" The woman inquired.

"Let us say this is for her honeymoon."

"And the other beauty?" She asked as she eyed Meg.

"My daughter." Mm. Giry answered proudly. "Perhaps in a few months time we will return for her. She is courting with a young Count.

The older women gave each other knowing looks.

It was now time for Meg to feel her own cheeks flush.

Their attention turned back to Christine. Madame Jolïete took Christine's face in her hand and turned it to her. Christine kept her eyes down away from the older woman's stare. She felt as if she were auditioning for a part.

"She is shy!" The woman announced with merriment.

"True, but she is willing. It is the groom who needs coaxing"

"With a wife this beautiful…he needs coaxing?" She frowned a little.

"The circumstances are unique Jolïete. This is not your usual groom…show us your special outfits."

"He is not…" Jolïete let her wrist hang loose.

"Oh no, we need not worry about that!"

Christine shuddered now because of her inadequacies someone thought her husband could be… If Erik knew he would die, or kill her. She heard Meg giggle behind her.

"We never looked like these two, did we Danielle?"

"No, we didn't need to."

Madame Jolïete showed the small party toward the back of the store.

----------------------------------------o

The three women descended from a Brougham carriage Madame Giry insisted on renting. "He does not want you in a Hansom cab," she had said. They re-entered the Opera House through the side doors, full of packages, the coachman helped them unload. Madame Giry went ahead. Mariele, one of the cleaning girls, intercepted the two girls. "Well, well is it Christmas?" Mariele asked. From the look of her garments, and the smell, it was obvious what she had been in the stables. Christine had not seen her since the unpleasant exchange at her wedding.

"Not Christmas, Mariele, just Christine's husband buying her a few things," Meg answered her. Meg had never cared for the girl and had been surprised to see her at Christine's wedding.

"You must have the largest wardrobe in Paris, Christine. Fitting a diva… oh, but you don't sing anymore do you?" Mariele insisted.

Actually, she has a whole room just for her clothes." answered Meg.

"You're real lucky to have such a strong stomach Christine," Mariele said viciously.

Christine rolled her eyes, and scurried past the girl. Mariele grinned.

"This isn't really your area of the Opera House, is it dear?" Meg sniffed the air, and made a face. "Muck-out duty this week I see." She pushed past Mariele and continued on her way. Meg knew Christine would not defend herself, she would find her crying on the bed. Christine had reverted to the withering rose of her premarital days. Erik should have never invited that wench to their wedding, but if her suspicions were correct, Mariele's days were numbered.

--------------------------------------------o

On Sunday morning, the three women made their way to church. Christine knelt and made the sign of the cross. She had not even seen a priest since her wedding. It felt good to be at mass. She rose with the group and began the prayers.

Meg sneaked a look at her from under the veil. Both girls smiled at each other. They recited the Credo in unison with the rest of the congregation. She prayed for her father's soul, For Mama Valerius's leg aches, and most fervently, she prayed that her heart open so she might accept her husband's face. She felt at peace even though Erik was far away. This was a good place for her to be.

At the end of the Mass, she felt like visiting her father's grave. It had been months since her last visit to Perros. So much had happened since then. She would have to tell Erik she wanted to go. He would take her if she asked. _Erik!_ Where was her husband? Was he in bed with another woman? She fought back fresh tears, and walked away from the church with Madame and Meg. Tea that is what she needed to calm her nerves. She turned to Madame Giry for advice on to where they should go for tea.

------------------------------------o

Louis prepared his bags to accompany his son back to Paris in the morning. They had spent the last two days in each other's company. Both days they had been up until the early hours of the morning talking. His son had wanted to know all the details about his relationship with his mother, and even about his life. When he asked Erik about his life, he hit a wall, and Erik gave him a very patchy recount of his life. He did talk about his Christine, as he called her. On this subject, he lingered, and recalled every nuance, and detail of her songs, walk, and smiles. His son reeked of love.

There were important things he had to put in place in Paris. He would legally recognize Erik as his son. He had to take care of one other detail immediately. Louis had known and loved the young vicomte since his birth. The families had been close for decades, but he would not allow Raoul de Chagny to interfere in his son's marriage.

---------------------------------------------------oo

Shadow Fox Forever has a very interesting story: Turn Back Time. It's both modern and retro.bbb


	12. Chapter 12 Rendezvous

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside the Opera House, and all original characters, to this story belong to me.

**A/N: **Thank you to all my readers. Thank you to my Chapter 11 reviewers:  
Silent Phantasy, scorpionorchid, mildetryth, voldivoice, Anne, Virginie, Phantomtears, Ripper de la Blackstaff, Lotte Rose 37,  
Shadow Fox Forever, neko-chan, Sarah Crawford, Christine 06.  
I want to thank my former beta Skeleton Horse, who did a fantastic job. She is inundated with schoolwork, and will be unable to continue as beta for this story.

**If anyone has very strong grammar skills, and wishes to beta this story, e-mail me. **

**Chapter 12**

**Rendezvous**

Since Erik had arrived at the mansion, no one had stared at him. Strangers always stared, that was been a given all his life. It was almost like being in a dream, all the servants acted as if he were normal. He tried to catch them but failed. As he passed them in the halls, they gave a small bow, and dipped their heads.

Although he missed Christine terribly, he had enjoyed leaving the cellars. It reminded him of his old traveling days. He could imagine how much she would enjoy all this. Despite that, he would not tell her, not until he could be sure of her feelings for him.

On his lone explorations of the property, he came upon a piano in a room. The piano was a beauty, it was hand carved. He fingered the name board, it said, "Ignaz Bösendorfer made in the workshops of Joseph Brodmann." His own piano in the cellars was an older Brodman on which the cellar's humidity had taken a toll. He sat at the piano, and began to play scales. The sound was wonderful, his fingers caressed the ivory keys, and he forgot where he was, as he basked in the glory of music. The dark dense chords rang throughout the house.

Louis heard the sound and rushed to the music room. The door was slightly agape. He stared at his son through the opening. "Just like the old Master, my lord," the butler said. Louis nodded. He remembered sitting at the old piano playing and singing children's tunes for his mother instead of the lessons his father had taught him. Mother laughed and clapped at his antics. His father brushed past him, and began smashing the piano into pieces. He had been terrified, thinking he was next, Louis ran to hide in the stables. A new piano replaced the old one; the incident was never mentioned. The lessons stopped, and Louis never sat at the piano again.

Erik turned to see his father standing just outside the door with his mouth literally hanging open. "It's really not becoming, to stand there like that." He turned fully to face his father. His hands tingled with pleasure.

"How did you learn?" the older man said.

"The old lady, where mother worked, had a grandson my age, Karl. He had a hard time learning his lessons, so to motivate her grandchild I was allowed to sit in on his lessons. Many of the tutors soon began paying more attention to me than to him. It suited Karl just fine, I used to do his assignments, and he made his grandmother happy. I would sit, and play the piano for hours, the old woman loved to hear the music so much she just let me. She liked to tell people it was her grandson playing. I played, and he sat on the floor playing with his tin soldiers." Karl, he had not thought of the lying bastard for years.Thanks to him, he had an education. Karl had also managed to get Erik thrown out of the manor as a young man. It was 20 years before he saw his mother again. _How unfortunate that bones take so long to decompose, there is still something of Karl left in this world_.

It hurt to see such hardness around his son's eyes. He gathered that story was more complex than Erik made it sound. He would not push him.

Louis found it amazing that he was sitting in the dining room sharing breakfast with his son, his, and Cécile's child. Cecile, he seldom thought of her now. That childhood love had changed into a quiet memory. However, the longing remained, a childish longing created by a forced separation. Louis tried to finesse the question he had wanted to ask all day. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Erik's lips. "Is your wife the same Christine Daaé that Raoul de Chagny claims is his fiancée?"

Erik stared at the older man, and finding nothing tricky about the question decided to answer in a straightforward manner. "One and the same. We married a few months ago. I admit under less than desirable circumstances, but legally non-the-less."

"You forced, her I heard," Louis, ventured.

"She made a choice!" Erik countered.

"Does she want to be with you?"

"She says she does."

"Does she love you?"

"I do not know… some days I think I know… then, things happen… it is complex." How else could he describe his relationship with Christine, but as complicated?

"Do you…" Louis was not sure how to broach the subject of his son's feelings toward the girl.

"Love her?" He chuckled, but found no proper way to describe the depth of his love without sounding a fool in front of this stranger. "Yes, I do."

Louis heard his son's voice thicken as he spoke of his love in three simple words. _His love runs deep, and if she does not return it so will his tears._

Erik needed to change the subject. He wasn't ready to answer too many questions about his relationship with Christine. "Do I have brothers and sisters?"

"No. That was the reason your grandfather confessed to his crime in the end. I produced no other heirs. "And so the search for you began… he died soon after, believing that due to his meddling, his lineage would end with me. You are my sole heir."

"I am not your heir! There is nothing that I want nothing from you. It is enough that your reaction to me had been… welcoming." _So mother was right. He would have welcomed me._

"This is your birthright!"

"You sent for me. I did not come here seeking fortune just information." He had not completely discarded the idea of using the lasso. It could keep for a while. "At any rate, I am not poor, and have no need of your money."

"No, you are not." Louis cleared his throat. "I am not ashamed to say, I have had you investigated as closely as possible."

Erik was not surprised or hurt. He had done exactly the same thing. "I am an extortionist."

"I know, but $20,000 a month? Doesn't it seem somewhat… exorbitant?"

"Erik laughed, "My expertise in casting has saved them thousands, and the notoriety of my presence has made them thousands more. It is a fair sum!"

Louis exploded into laughter. Tears appeared at the corners of his crinkled eyes. He loved his son's reasoning. What a rascal! He was no common thief as he had been told. He would dismiss the detective who had handled the case when he arrived in Paris. The idiot, he had gotten it all wrong. He was probably listening to gossip while collecting his fat checks. He was about to get a swift kick on his fat bottom.

"When you put it that way, it does sound fair," he said still chuckling.

'The world has not left me many choices for supporting myself, and I have expensive tastes," Erik added.

"I am sure you do, after all you are a Rouxville."

Erik looked puzzled.

"That is our family's last name, though I am most commonly known by my title of Marquis du Bourg-Denis. When I officially recognize you, and I will. Rouxville will be your last name whether you wish to use it or not."

"I have seldom had a need for a last name, but when I have, I used my mother's."

"Now you will have your father's last name, and resources at your disposition. It has been a long time coming."

"I may choose in the end to take the last name," He did not want this man thinking he could change his name, or anything else about him at will. "But as far as the title I will not accept that. I have no wish to belong to a corrupt dying class." _Let him beg me to take his titles. As for the 'resources' I will partake of those as needed_

Louis listened to Erik. He had heard that rhetoric from other younger nobles. He himself had harbored thoughts of 'egalite' when much younger. He would not insist. Life had a way of shaking up everyone and letting him or her fall into their assigned place… Erik would be no different; he was not exempt from nature's rules. He would end up just where he belonged.

Erik no longer felt the same antagonism that had driven him to go into that mansion, but he could not say he had any warm feelings for the man who stood before him. He could as easily do away with him as not. He would take advantage of the opportunities offered him, but in his own time. There were many things he had to think about, and analyze. Foremost, Christine was not to know yet. _If she accepts me, it has to be for myself, not because I am some noble's bastard offspring._ He had the means now to level the playing field with the boy, but he did not want to. He did not want her like that. The field would remain as it was, the boy with his looks and title on one side and he deformed and talented on the other. He knew perfectly well that he had the advantage simply because he had forced her to marry him, and had a priest officiate the ceremony. His dear pious Christine would never break her vows. Moreover, in this entire affair, where did her heart truly lie? _Christine! _How he missed her. It had been an interesting three days, but he was ready to go home to his wife. If Mm. Giry had kept her part of the bargain, he would reward her. If she had failed, she might find herself on the lookout for her neck. Opera Houses were very dangerous places after all. He smirked.

A knock.

"My lord, your coach is packed and ready."

"We are off then," he said to Erik. Louis grabbed the nearest bottle and two glasses. "A little something to keep us warm," He added, winking at his son. He put his arm lightly over Erik's shoulders, and felt him stiffen, and move away slightly. _I am still a stranger to him. Time, at last time will work in my favor._

---------------------------------------------o

"Le Marais," Mm Giry said to the coachman. "_Salon de thé_ **Mariage Frères." **The three women were dressed in elegant afternoon gowns as they entered the best teahouse in Paris. Meg wore a light green dress with a pleated skirt, which accentuated her ample bust. Christine's peach dress also had a fashionable front pleated skirt and showed off her small waist. Mm Giry as always wore black, she knew she did not look like a lady, but she could pass herself off as a chaperone. With so many years of practice tending box five, she went into her role of escort/caretaker to the rich. The white tablecloths and walls contrasted sharply with the wooden furniture. Soft dappled light entered through a skylight. Palms and other tropical plants contributed to give the teahouse an air of oriental mystery.

They each choose a different tea, Mm Giry could not bring herself to venture further that a strong black tea laced with cream, like her usual morning café au lait. Meg chose a Darjeeling with a hint of hibiscus flowers; Christine chose a green tea with peppermint, because it reminded her of her afternoon teas with Eric. A Solicitous waiter in starched white uniform brought in the three steaming teapots while carefully eyeing Meg's low cut décolletage. The three women made a concentrated study of the of the patisserie cart. Finally, each one selected the dessert of her choice.

Meg raised the teacup to her lips. "How can we afford to have tea here Maman?"

"Christine's husband insisted that if we went out for a meal we should go to the best places… I will not go against his wishes," Danielle Giry leisurely poured herself another cup of tea, and freely poured the heavy cream. She had never been near **Mariage Frères,** and she intended to draw out her time as much as possible. Her acquaintance with the ghost was truly paying off now. She had always benefited from his generosity, but now that he was married and in love, his generosity knew no bounds. He wanted his wife to have the best in their company. So long as Christine was happy, he would keep on providing. Madame Giry would make sure Christine was happy, well cared for, and ready to be a wife to him. Again, they had a mutually beneficial agreement. This was a long way off from being the keeper of Box 5.

"Oh my," said Meg, her eyes betraying the reason for her pallor.

Two tables away to Christine's back sat Raoul de Chagny, Count Philippe, and a short well-dressed stocky man. Mm Giry followed her daughter's concerned eyes. Danielle Giry felt cold, beads of perspiration appeared on her face, and down to her collarbone. If Christine met the vicomte, _he _would not like it at all. Meg ducked her face, and shoveled a piece of cake into her mouth. The fat companion of the Chagny brothers noticed her and tipped his head in her direction. Meg glued her eyes to her teacup. The three women were stuck, they could not escape, and they could not hide. The Chagny party stood between them and the door. Sure enough, Madame Giry saw Count Philippe tap his brother on the arm, and nod in their direction, a cold drop of sweat made its way down Danielle Giry's back. She dried her face with a handkerchief, and stuck out her chin.

The old woman turned to her charge, and whispered, "Christine doesn't look now, but Count Philippe, and his younger brother is sitting two tables away," she covered the young girl's hand. "Don't turn around just stay still."

_Raoul!_ Christine held her breath. She fought the instinct to turn around, and make her presence known to her friend. _Dear Raoul. He must be well, if he is out like this_. The meeting he had pre-arranged was still two days away. She had been unable to send a reply to his second note either confirming or canceling.

"Christine!" his voice chattered the hushed atmosphere of the teahouse. His chair fell over as he rushed toward the woman he still saw as his intended. Every eye in the teahouse turned their way.

"Raoul, I… I," she did not know what to say. He looked marvelous, in tan and burgundy. He was even handsomer than she remembered.

"You… here? You look beautiful!" He held her at arms length "Are you alright? Where is he?" His hand went to his sword's hilt. "Is he hiding? I don't see the fiend!"

Had Erik been there she was certain Raoul would have attacked him, and from the way Raoul's brother was scouring the room he would have joined in for the kill. She felt her stomach lurch. "He is not here Raoul," _When Erik returns to me, I will never ever to leave the cellars again!_ "Oh please sit down Raoul, everyone is staring at us"

"Let them. Oh my love!" He drew her into his arms holding her tightly. She allowed the embrace thinking that not to do so would cause a stir. Mm Giry cleared her throat, and Christine pushed away from Raoul.

"Christine, tell me he hasn't hurt you!"

"I sent you two notes…"

"Oh I know he forced you to write those, never mind…now nothing will separate us. You are safe. You will come with me…"

"I can't do that Raoul," She said pulling away from her former lover.

Philippe was up whispering, and pulling gently on his brother. "Raoul, Raoul!"

"Girls we must leave" Madame Giry announced.

"She can't leave, I won't allow it. I cannot let you go back to that monster!" he cried.

"Oh Raoul, I'm so sorry, you don't understand." She disengaged herself, and ran to the front entrance.

Raoul tried to go after her, but the other two women cut in front of him blocking his way. He began to go after them when he felt a strong hand on his arm. "Let her go." Philippe ordered him.

"I can't… she will go back to him."

"Then it is her choice," said Philippe.

"No, it is not. She still fears for my life. Her sacrifice is too great" Raoul pleaded fervently.

"Perhaps, but this isn't the time or place. We cannot afford a scandal over an Opera singer," countered his brother.

They heard the clopping of the carriage horses grow fainter.

"She's gone," Raoul said dejectedly.

"In three days you will meet with her in private, was that not your agreement?" Philippe asked his young brother

"Yes, it is. and I will save her from that creature then." He turned to leave the teahouse.

Philippe breathed deeply, and still holding on to his brother's arm led him back to the table. "Come, let us finish our drinks or we will end up in tomorrows morning's paper." This business with the opera singer was getting annoying. He wished his brother had never laid eyes on the girl. She was pretty, but not a socially appropriate match for his brother.

------------------------------------------------------------o

After their supper, the girls had discussed every detail of the fiasco at the teahouse. Christine felt more nervous than ever about her situation with Raoul. She simply had to make him understand that she wanted to stay married to Erik because she loved. She could see that Raoul's stubbornness would cause her problems.

If Christine still had doubts, these evaporated after her meeting with Raoul. She still harbored warm feelings for her friend, but these were now totally of a platonic nature. His handsome face no longer set heart on a rapid course. There was no confusion in her heart now. She was in love with her husband, and no one else. _Erik!_ She missed him so much. Masked or unmasked she just wanted him back now!

Meg wondered if Christine had any idea as to what was going on in the Opera House. Her friend tended to be so naïve. "Christine, this is no longer a coincidence. Everyone that was at your wedding has either died, or left the Opera House. With the exception of that stupid Mariele. Could Erik be responsible?" Meg asked her friend.

What are you saying Meg…he barely leaves the house, and returns with armfuls of groceries. We are not the little ballet brats who blame a rainy day on the Opera Ghost. My goodness, why would my Erik do such a thing?"

"I'm sorry Christine, I just thought…"

"No Meg you did not think… that's why you said it." Christine countered. "I don't understand the pleasure everyone gets in bad mouthing him… I think I will retire now Meg."

"But Christine I did not mean any harm." Meg knew she had been too blunt in her questioning.

"Accusing him of murder is not harmful? At least you did not have a sword like Raoul. But words are harmful too," she huffed.

"I'm sorry Christine," her friend was obviously blind when it came to her husband. She still thought it was a dreadfully scary coincidence that almost everyone who attended The Opera Ghost's wedding was no longer in the Opera House, nine in all. Dead or gone without a trace, only Mariele remained.

"If it comes to that, you certainly did not have any qualms about taking a murderer's money when we went shopping." They both sat on the couch without talking.

After a short while, Meg turned to her friend. "I'm sorry Christine I shouldn't have said those things."

Christine moved closer Meg. "I'm sorry too. You know shopping would have been awful alone."

Christine hugged Meg. "He has had a very hard life Meg," she confided. "He appears so sure of himself, so self possessed but…sometimes I think he's only sure of his talent. I do my best to reassure him but he can be so difficult at times." A tear escaped from under Christine's lashes. She smiled when Meg hugged her back.

**------------------------------------------o**

Erik was driving Louis to distraction. Before they left Rouen, he got off the carriage to visit several stores to purchase things for Christine. As soon as they entered Paris, he got off to buy her a rose, and then he got off again to buy a ribbon for the rose. Of all the women he had ever known Louis could not recall one, for which he would have descended the coach 14 times to get her something. Erik had bought her scarves, gloves, a hat, jewelry, and perfume. Louis envied his son the feelings that that kind of love must bring. His son thought nothing of entering a women's undergarments shop and buying things for his wife. Louis thought that Erik, and his wife must be very close. How did he know what she needed, or liked in undergarments. When he asked, Erik looked at him perplexed saying, "She's my wife, I have to know her needs." His last purchase was a burgundy velvet cape. "She needs a good cape for winter." Louis moved a little more to the corner to make room for the latest purchase.

**--------------------------------------------o**

Christine told Mm. Giry about eating with Erik. "Erik does not eat when I eat. It is difficult for him to chew, and he finds it awkward eating with the mask on. Thanks to his mother's cruelty, he is almost incapable of sitting at the table with the mask off. In the mornings, he is used to not having it on during the night, so he can just about manage. We have tried at other times, and he was unable to eat a bite. He just sat there stiffly, his eyes nearly closed, and his head hanging in such shame, that I finally took pity on him, and let him walk away. "What did that woman done to my husband?" she grimaced. "I hate her Madame."

"Christine if you had a child that looked like that what would you do?" Mm. Giry asked.

Without hesitation, Christine answered, "I would give it all my love. How could I not."

"Do you realize that if you are successful with our plan, you may find yourself in that position?" The older woman asked her.

"Quite frankly I had not thought that far…his child…_our_ child…my God! What a monumental event!" Christine sat down stunned by the realization of impending motherhood.

------------------------o

A knock at the door put an end to their conversation. Mm Giry opened the door. Christine turned to find the doorway filled with her masked husband. "Erik!"

Before he could say a word or move, she ran to him, and threw her arms around him. She kissed his cheek, and he drew her to him. "Has my wife been well cared for?" He asked, his voice booming in the tiny room.

"She's been a very good pupil," Mm Giry said with a wink to Christine.

Erik looked down at his wife wondering what that wink was about. For the moment, all he wanted was to be alone with her. "Get your things ready, we're going home Christine!" He ordered.

She had never heard sweeter words.

As she gathered up her things, Mm Giry whispered in her ear. "Not tonight Christine he has traveled all day, and is tired. Have patience, and don't waste your resources."

Christine nodded. She turned toward Erik. "I have a little more than what I brought up," she said shrugging.

"I would not have expected less from you, my love. Just take what you will need for tonight, I will get the rest of your belongings tomorrow," he told her, and sat down knowing that even this would take awhile.

------------------------------------------------------oo


	13. Chapter 13 Homecoming

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside the Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: I have a new beta for this story. I want to thank Busanda for doing a fabulous job. I am updating a day early thanks to her! **This story is rated T. Warning, if you are under 16.

I thank all my readers. If you can, please leave a review. I thank and hug all the reviewers for Chapter 12: Ripper de la Blackstaff, diveprincess, scorpionorchid, Sarah Crawford, Xscarlet museX,Twinkle22, Black Despair (Cool you took my story title, as your Penname!), Lisa Butler, Virginie, mildetryth, Shadow Fox Forever, Yoshimi Minamino, Phantomtears (Thank you for your kind offer. I found someone. I think your Mom should edit this chapter for you.), Scully35, neko-chan, Rubymoon2, Megumisakura (your review was posted to chapter 1) Hanna Kaufman.

**Chapter 13**

**Homecoming **

They walked down to the cellars slowly, taking no short cuts. They strolled, each holding the other close around the waist. He kissed the top of her head, and she made cooing noises, cuddling up closer. Midway down, he produced a red rose for her out of thin air. She clapped, and kissed his cheek. When they reached the house by the lake, he hugged her to him, close, feeling every inch of her body become a part of him—he felt whole again. She lay quietly within his embrace. Once inside, Christine made tea for them, and he produced a box of marzipan sweets he brought her in the shape of roses.

"They taste like roses!"

"I believe they are flavored with rose water," he informed her.

She sat on his lap, and although he stiffened at first, her closeness made him relax. She rested her head on his shoulder. He loved having her sit on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I met my father," he wanted to make it sound casual.

"Is that who sent you that letter?" A feeling of relief washed over her. He had not been with another woman.

He nodded. "He lives in Rouen. I went to his house, and we talked."

"Is he pleasant?"

"I suppose… he had been looking for me, and he wants to give me his name."

"What name is that Erik?"

"Just a name."

"Shouldn't I know since it will be my name also?"

He sighed softly, "Rouxville."

She sat up a little. "Oh. It sounds important."

"Humph." He had expected that reaction from her. He had to be careful with the information he gave her.

"Where does he work? What does he do?" She waited for his answer. It was so difficult to have a conversation with Erik about personal matters.

"He… works in the vineyards." He felt guilty not adding that Louis owned the vineyards he worked in. Moreover, that it was the single largest, most productive vineyard in Rouen. And, that he worked there because he loved the process of making wine, and not because he had to.

"At his age… he must be very old, right? At his age it must be difficult for him to work in a vineyard."

"Well…" He didn't want to wholly lie to her, so he diverted the subject. "He is here in Paris… for a few days."

"That's wonderful, I can meet him. He must be…" she said.

He interrupted her. "A man… that is all. And no, a meeting will not be possible… at this time," he said cautiously.

"Why not? What is he like? When are you seeing him again?" She asked in rapid succession. She saw his warning look, and stopped. She knew he did not like her asking him questions like that.

Trying to remain calm, she asked, "What does he look like?" She did not have family anymore, except Erik, and to have a new member was exciting to her.

"He looks like anyone else's father; did you expect him to be a monster like me?" He snapped.

Ignoring his testy answer, she continued. "I asked, because I wanted to have an idea of what you would look like when you're old."

He was going to retort when he realized what her answer implied. She was looking into the future and he was a part of it. He deflected the thought.

"I am old!" he teased her. Interesting that at her young age, she did not consider him old yet. If he started to recount everything he had been through, he would feel as old as France itself.

Christine giggled. "No you're not Erik, how silly. Mme. Giry is old, and look at how energetic she is."

"What do you care if I will be energetic or not?"

She blushed and pressed her head onto his shoulder.

_Why would that make her blush? _Did she think she would have to be his nurse? As if, he would allow that!

----------------------------------------------------------o

They sat quietly for a while. She smelled go good, as if she had been walking under the sun. She always smelled of light and life. She picked up her head, brushed his lips, and pulled back. He had not seen her for three days, Erik wanted more, but he had never initiated a kiss himself. _What if she turns away? _She held her face close to his, her mouth slightly open, he knew it was an invitation. His heart pounded, nearly coming out of his chest. Erik held his breath. _Please God, let me be reading her intentions correctly._ He had dealt with rejection all his life, but this was too personal. He knew he would not take it well. He pressed his lips lightly to hers. She returned the pressure, and immediately, he felt a slit begin to open between her lips_. If I do this, and I am wrong_… His tongue slid along the opening, trembling. Still unsure, he slid his tongue between her lips. He explored just inside her mouth and met the hard shield of her teeth. _She has set up a barrier to stop me_! Before he finished the thought or pulled back, she parted her teeth and leaned against him. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears now. She had not run away, so he ventured further into the warm crevice. The union with her tongue sent an electric shock through his body. He could have never imagined the moist warmth of her mouth. _How fresh she tastes, like the juice from a freshly cut pear._ The shock of that encounter almost made him pull back, but he held on to explore the other textures of her mouth. The hairs at the back of his neck stood as she responded to his invasion by sucking on his tongue. This was more than he could take. Erik moaned and shuddered. He pulled back, and looked into her eyes in wonderment, his breathing was jagged. He saw a dreamy look on her face.

Christine liked the power she had over him. One of her kisses would leave him gasping for air, and she loved how he trembled in her arms. She was nothing next to him: He could out think her, out sing her, his acting skills were superb, and there was no area of learning that she could think of in which he did not have a command. _But, when I kiss him, he is totally mine._ This seduction business would not be so difficult; it just had to be timed right.

She had kissed a boy at a fair long before coming to the Opera House; her first kiss. The boy had curly black hair with bright blue eyes, he looked after the tigers. His bravery impressed her. It was nothing. The boy, she had forgotten his name, took her behind the animal tent, while her father played the violin for an appreciative audience. Their lips had met, and suddenly the boy's hands took on a life of their own. He went past her sense of decorum, so she pushed him away. He was stronger and continued his sopping kiss. When it was over, she wiped the residue from around her mouth and ran back to her father. She felt disgusted and was glad when they left the next day. Recently, she was reunited with Raoul after so many years. She had allowed Raoul to kiss her when they played at being engaged. He was always a gentleman, and his kisses reflected that. They were lovely, proper kisses. But, when she kissed Erik, he smoldered just under the surface. Although he kept his hands far away from her body, she felt touched. A warm ache awoke in her every time their lips met. Tonight, he had taken the initiative and kissed her with passion. This kiss made her want to forget her modesty, run to her trunk, and start to pull out what Mme. Giry called her _resources_.

Desperately, he moved in for a second kiss. This time her arms went around his neck, and he was certain she wanted his kiss. The mask was in the way, but he dared not remove it. Again he pressed what he could of his lips to hers, and he found her mouth opening up to him as a morning bloom. This time he let his tongue play with hers, relishing the velvety sensations. Growing bold, he dared to suck lightly on her tongue, she moaned, and he nearly lost his senses. _If only_…_ but she would never want to. She made that clear before we married._ He felt his lower lip slip between her teeth. Christine nipped and sucked on it lightly. He was panting now, and he felt on fire from head to toe. He wanted her urgently and utterly. Every inch of him screamed with longing. He was light-headed and could not have moved if he had wanted to. With horror he realized that his hands were no longer on her waist. He forced himself not to panic. _She has not run away, so maybe she doesn't mind. I will just remove them._ His hands caressed the exposed skin above her mounds. Still, she did not seem to mind, and so he ventured a trembling fingertip into the top of her bodice and explored the soft flesh there. He could feel the sweat on his brow, as the heat in his body rose. He looked down to see his bony finger slide down further. It did not get far, but it excited him beyond all reason to think that he was touching what he could not see. _Stop before she stops you Erik. End your folly now!_ Her bosom rose and fell quickly. With dismay, he saw his fingertip disappear, and closed his eyes against the impending rejection. _She will slap me any second. She will remember that it is a monster that touches her. _His fearless finger slid down the satiny mound until it discovered a pebbly surface. He gasped into her mouth. He knew what he had reached, and he felt all the blood rush from his head. _Erik stop now, she will die!_ Just as he felt a hardening under his fingertip, he withdrew as if burned, replacing his hands firmly on her waist; willing them not to stray away.

It irked him that she knew how to kiss so deliciously. How did she know just where to delve her tongue to drive him beyond his limit? The boy! He had seen them kissing that night on the rooftop. What else had he taught her? She had never mentioned intimacy with the vicomte, but that silly game of playing at being engaged was dangerous. He had warned her. His gold band was supposed to remind her to whom she belonged. Were there other times when she had gone against his wishes? Had she ever met with the boy outside the Opera House? This thought lodged itself firmly in his mind. He pulled back from her embrace.

Erik had suddenly pulled away his eyes flaming. Christine wasn't sure what had gone wrong. He got up suddenly, nearly dropping her from his lap. Their kissing had seemed perfect. She had thought that they were on the right path. She could still feel the warm trail his finger left on her skin. Was he upset because she did not try to stop him, or did he expect her to do something else? She felt he had begun laying claim to territory that was his by all rights. _Madame was right he is tired and grumpy tonight. _

_------------------------------------------------o_

He sat in the library alone, a long glass half filled with drink and a pipe in his mouth. The liquor had no taste or color, it simply burned going down. Vivid in Erik's mind were the kisses he had seen her share with the young vicomte on the Opera House rooftop under Apollo's lyre. The boy had kissed her repeatedly until his lips were sated. While _he_ was forced to watch, his own lips parched with unfulfilled desire, feeling uglier, and more disfigured with each kiss the couple shared. _Why did you betray me Christine? You had promised._ Was that her nature to lie and betray? He had never told her, but he had been sick after that night. The rage had provoked violent retching. For several days afterward, he burned with a high fever. He hated her that night, freely giving away kisses that belonged to him. Now she was 'experienced', as that man Louis had described his mother. Was she aware of the power she had over him? Did she know one of her kisses could bring him to his knees? He did his best to cover up his weakness for her, to control her, but in the end, he was no more than an unimportant gnat in her world. With a sweep of her hand, he would be smashed against the wall. He, who had held all the Opera House in the palm of his hand, was content to be a weed in her garden, praying everyday that she would not pluck and discard him. _You fool Erik, tonight she bestowed her kisses on you, allowed you to kiss her, touch her even, like a woman, and you spoiled it all. I could not blame her if she never lets you near her again._

The effect of their kisses lasted well past bedtime. Erik was unable to sleep knowing her so near. Once she was asleep, he moved closer to her, almost touching her face. He positioned himself so that her warm breath would caress his cheeks and lips. He inhaled her out breath, and contented himself when she kneed his thighs a couple of times. Nothing mattered, he had been to heaven tonight, and the sensations would last him a lifetime.

----------------------------------------------------------oo


	14. Chapter 14 Letters and Scents

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House, and all original characters to this story belong to me.

A/N: Thank you again to my beta Busanda, she has done a great job on this chapter. I might add that she worked late into the night, so that the story could be updated today.

Thank you to all my readers, 484 this week, do review if you get the urge! Thank you to my reviewers for Chapter 13: Shadow Fox Forever, Twinkle 22,

Black Despair, Ruby Moon, Soul of Power Rocks, Ripper de la Blackstaff,

draegon–fire, Kryss LaBryn, Sarah Crawford, Quiet 2885, Busanda,

Hanna Banana, Dani Blues, Sue Raven, Mildetryth, LoveMe 1010, Phantomangel132, Phantom Obsessed, Virginie, neko-chan, Anita

**Chapter 14 **

**Letters and Scents**

She could hear Erik moving about outside the kitchen. He was growing hungry, and impatient. It was almost time to call her husband in for breakfast. She had made him croissants, poached eggs in a special sauce, and hot chocolate. The smells mingled and created a wonderful aroma that murmured 'home'. However, Christine's attention was not fully on her cooking that morning.

The letter from Raoul burned in her waistband, so she put her hand over it, as if to stop it from burning through her clothes. Then, she thought of the picture hidden in her dresser. It had been her constant companion when she first married Erik. She had not looked at it for months now, but it was still there amongst her things.

She had read the letter while she was in Meg's room, but she needed to read it again. It was a dreadful, traitorous letter. She had to talk to Raoul to make him understand that she was where she wanted to be. Christine took the letter out of her waistband and unfolded the fine paper.

"What are you reading, my love?" Erik asked as he entered the kitchen unmasked. As usual, when he was unmasked, his shoulder hunched slightly, his head hung low, and his eyes barely met hers.

She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she had not heard Erik approach from behind. The letter was open in her hand.

"Erik! You're in the kitchen before breakfast is served; you know that is not allowed." _He never comes in when I'm cooking. Does he suspect something? _

"I just came in to get a drink," he said, sniffing the air. "Smells good! I'll have you know, my dear wife, that my stomach is making ungodly noises." As if to underline his words, his stomach growled.

She patted his stomach. "Why didn't you ask me? I will get you something refreshing. Juice perhaps?" She began to shoo him out the door. "In a few minutes your stomach will sound like a heavenly choir when it's filled with my goodies."

"What is that paper in your hand anyway?" He inquired, slowly walking back toward her.

Her heart was now thumping in her chest. She managed to control her voice, and casually answered. "Never mind me and my pieces of paper. All you have to do is have an appetite when I'm done here. And this," she waved the vicomte's letter in the air, "is a little invention of my own to see if I can tickle my husband's taste buds tonight." _I am a liar through and through._

"You wrote a recipe for me?" He looked at her incredulously. "For me?"

"Yes, now go, and let me finish my work. I'll take your drink to you." She kissed his cheek, as she shooed him out the kitchen. _Meg was right about me. If he knew, he could parade me through the streets to be spat upon._

Erik walked out, a smile plastered on his thin lips; his hand caressed the cheek she had kissed.

With trembling hands, she unfolded the letter again.

_Dearest Christine,_

_My health and strength have returned, so that I am now capable of dealing with the fiend who inhabits the bowels of the earth. The same rogue who came between us months ago._

_Our time for happiness draws near, my love. Meet me in the Opera House on the tenth of the month after midday. I will take you away then, and deal with your abductor. Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded, nor will the scoundrel's evil deed against you go unpunished. No doubt, my sword will find its mark. With the beast slain, we can go away together, so that you need never look upon a stage again. I will take you away as my beloved bride._

_Forever in your debt,_

_Your fiancé, _

_Raoul Vicomte de Chagny _

_How can I give myself to my husband, when another man claims me in his heart? _

_I have to solve this problem first, before I think of giving myself to Erik._ From his response last night, she surmised it would not be very difficult to convince him that they should complete their union. Still, she could not calmly lie on a marriage bed, while another man thought her his. Erik deserved to have her wholly—body, mind, and soul. _I will meet with Raoul tomorrow and be done with this whole nonsense. _

After breakfast, she saw he had put on his mask. "Why do you wear that, if we are alone?" She asked him. He shrugged and pulled her into the bedroom. The bed was full of large and small packages. Her heart leapt, presents! Not even at Christmas had she seen so many boxes and parcels. He was looking at her with a smile on his lips; his eyes were bright amber with excitement. "Oh Erik," she went to hug him, but he shoved a box in front of her. She began to open the paper carefully, but the anticipation was too great, and she ended up tearing right through the wrappings to reveal her gift. It was a new hat. It would go perfectly with her new blue carriage dress. "I can wear it when we visit Mama Valerius." She kissed his lips lightly, and he thrust another package in her hands. This one contained white kid gloves so soft they glided on her cheek. She gave him another kiss, this one a little longer than the last one.

Erik handed her a few books tied with string. He took out his ivory-hilted dagger and cut the string for her. He saw her admiring the dagger and volunteered that it was from India. One of the books was a novel entitled _Delphine, _by Germaine de Staël. He reminded her that they would continue her education the very next day. The other book was _On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection _by Charles Darwin. She looked at him wide-eyed. "Erik, should I really be reading this book? The church says…" He laughed, "Yes, my dear, you should be introduced to science correctly." He had also included a simple math book. She hated math, but she would study it, if it pleased him. As thanks for the books, he received a roll of her eyes followed by a quick, dry peck. Her reaction made him laugh.

"A gift from my father," he said soberly. He handed her another box from which she pulled out a rose-colored perfume flacón. She dabbed on the perfume and made him smell her arm and neck, which he did, depositing a tiny kiss on both places.

"When will you see him again?" she asked.

"Later today."

"Thank him for me. Tell him it was…very successful."

His eyes were dazzling with merriment. He smiled. "Yes, I will thank him as well." Christine giggled.

She opened up a few more presents and put them aside, always rewarding her benefactor with one of her kisses. Finally, she opened the largest box and pulled out a velvet, burgundy cape. She put it on her shoulders and twirled in it. Christine walked up to Erik and wrapped him in the cape with her, making a cocoon around them. He could not help himself and claimed her lips, pulling her close to him.

Lastly, he gave her a small black box. She opened it only to find it empty. He laughed at the puzzled look on her face. From behind each of her ears, a cobalt blue sapphire earring appeared in his hand.

"My God, Erik!" She grinned and clapped. "They are so beautiful, please put them on me right now."

He helped her put the earrings on and saw a tear slip down her cheek. "We can change them if they make you sad."

"No, no, I love them but…" She felt embarrassed. She had been to several stores while he was gone. She and Meg had bought several outfits, but she had not bought anything for him. "Oh Erik, I have no gift for you." She lowered her head in shame. He lifted her chin with a bony finger and shook his head. For a moment, he reminded her of her father.

"How very silly my little girl is. Have you not kissed me Christine? " She nodded. "Where could that miracle be purchased?"

She lay back on the bed, still wearing her cape. She pushed all her gifts to the side and pulled on him. His first thought was to resist, but he found that he could not do so. Her arms snaked around his neck, and he allowed himself to lie on top of her. He pressed his lips on hers, and as if by magic, she opened her lips to permit him entrance. Finding that position too intimate, and arousing, he shifted so that he lay by her side. _She will feel my reaction to her!_ He entered her mouth and was rewarded by the silken feel of her tongue. _I think she likes me to kiss her. Perhaps, she will let me kiss her everyday! _He drew her closer to him A box corner dug into his ribs making him shift again, moving his hips closer to her.Her hands went to his face, and she removed his mask. He froze, and his breath caught in his throat as he felt her claim his upper lip, which the mask had denied her. Erik could not belief that she would kiss him without his mask, but he did not dwell on this occurrence, rather he allowed himself to enjoy her kiss. In turn, he forbade all thoughts to enter his head. He deepened the kiss, as he felt his errant hand begin to roam.

They both heard the alarm sound at the same time.

"No! No!" He yelled, sitting up on the bed. "That is it, I will kill him!" Erik thundered. "This is too much!"

Erik bounded up from the bed, went to the drawer, and finding a pistol, he ran to the tunnel entrance, with Christine on his heels.

"Stop that Erik!" She cried.

He pointed the gun at Hafiz as he entered.

Hafiz's mouth dropped open. He stared at Erik's face, totally ignoring the gun two inches away from his forehead.

"What do you want here?" Erik barked.

"Bonjour, I came to visit as you know I have vowed to do." The Persian answered nervously, his eyes still glued to Erik's face.

"You will not take a hint, so it is away with you!" Erik cocked the gun.

Christine reached his side saying, "Erik, that is not funny. Put that gun away before someone gets hurt."

From Hafiz's wide-eyed stares, Erik suddenly recalled that he was not wearing his mask.

"I see that you are staring at me Persian! Well, get used to it, because this is the way I am at home. My wife does not like me to wear the mask at home. If you do not like it you can leave, which would please me to no end."

He had not intended for the Persian to see him without the mask. In the excitement of being in bed with Christine and the untimely interruption, he forgot to put his mask on. _This would have never happened, if I had not been so lost in kissing her!_ Although his stomach knotted, he stubbornly refused to allow the Persian to see his humiliation. He remained barefaced under Hafiz's stupefied stare.

Christine was happy to see that Erik could now face someone beside herself without the mask. She had no idea that it had all been one very embarrassing mistake for him. "My husband needs to be comfortable in his own home. He will not hide from anyone anymore." To emphasize her point, she reached up and placed a kiss on his sunken cheek.

"Would you like tea?" She asked Hafiz.

Hafiz nodded his agreement, unable to verbalize it.

She noticed Erik was still pointing the gun at the Persian's head. "Erik put that gun away," she said, shaking her head. "Pardon, Hafiz, he carries his jokes too far."

Still eyeing the shocked Persian, he lowered the gun. "I should kill you anyway, and be done with it." Erik wanted to run and hide his shame, but he forced himself to walk slowly toward the bedroom.

Hafiz slumped on the nearest chair and mopped his face. He was much more upset over seeing Erik's grotesque head bobbing above his skeletal body than he had been about having a gun pointed at his head. As if that were not enough to drive him nearly insane, he saw Christine kiss Erik's abhorrent face, touching her delicate mouth to the monster's head. He had seen Erik's face once before in Persia, and he had hoped then that that had been a once in a lifetime event. After today's display, he knew it was not to be so. To his relief Erik returned with his usual mask back in place.

"I do this for you," Erik said, pointing to his mask, "but my wife will not be happy."

Sure enough, as if he were witness to a comedy of errors, Christine came in on cue and frowned a little when she saw Erik's masked face. She put the tea tray on the table.

"Hafiz I did not have time to make my pastries today." She stole a look at Erik and blushed. He returned the look with a mischievous smirk. "But we do have some cookies." She said putting the cookie tin on the table.

"What cookies?" Erik questioned her nastily.

"The only ones we have."

"He cannot have any of my cookies!"

"I'll make more tomorrow," she retorted.

"And they will be mine as well!" He hollered. "Mark my words; he's not getting my cookies!" His voice boomed throughout the home.

"Erik, we have a guest!" She was horrified that he should act in this manner.

Mama Valerius always served her guests her best cakes and other food on her finest china. Even if she and Mama were left with nothing, their guests enjoyed everything they had to offer. Erik was such a gentleman at other times, but now…

"Our guest can have tea, but he can't have my cookies. If he wants something sweet, he can add extra sugar to his tea, but he will _not_ touch my cookies!" He continued.

"Stop it, of course he can." She took the tin and opened it in front of Hafiz.

The Persian kept his hands away from the cookies, fearing Erik's reaction.

"Did you not make them especially for me?" Erik inquired, strangely calm.

"You know I did," she answered, smiling into his eyes.

"Then they are for me alone!" Erik grabbed the tin box from the table, slammed the lid on, and walked away with it to his room.

"Just this once Erik, please don't be rude," she pleaded after him.

Christine turned to their guest, "I am so embarrassed Hafiz. I don't know what to say."

For the first time since his arrival, he felt relaxed. Hafiz began to laugh. He noticed that her blush deepened.

Erik returned from his room empty-handed.

"What in heaven's name is so special about those cookies?" Hafiz asked him.

"My wife makes them for me and me alone. They are not for anyone else." Erik sat back on the divan.

She stood, hands on hips, shaking her head at him. "I am totally mortified by your behavior Erik!"

He turned to her, "And the answer is still no." He narrowed his eyes and spat, "No, I will not share my things!"

Erik waited for Christine to serve him tea. She had served Hafiz another cup and served herself one. He sat waiting.

"Well Christine, did you forget something?" He finally said, tapping at his empty teacup.

"Why, I thought we were no longer following social conventions in this house," she said sweetly. "You may serve yourself, my dear husband."

Without looking at Hafiz, Erik swallowed dryly and poured himself a cup. He didn't say another word.

Hafiz enjoyed his tea tremendously. He drank slowly as he watched the couple. Christine gave Erik dirty looks, and Erik pointedly ignored them, all the while sitting pressed together in a corner of the divan.

"I actually have a missive for you, Erik. It's from your father."

"You know Erik's father?" She asked.

"I don't know him, Christine. A messenger delivered this note for Erik," he said, handing the note to his friend.

------------------------------------------------------------o

"You sign here, and you sir…sign here," said the nervous clerk. He tried not to, but he kept eyeing Erik's face as if something were amiss.

Erik met his eyes every time the clerk gave him an inquisitive look. This made the civil servant even more nervous. Erik wore his flesh colored mask. Though it looked like skin, the lack of facial expression made it look strange. He had added stage makeup to the edges of it, so from far away he looked like a normal person. However, the mask was never meant for such close-quarter inspection as this, and though the clerk did not catch on, he was intrigued by the utter lack of emotion shown by this client.

"Congratulations Marquis du Bourg-Denis, and congratulations Monsieur Rouxville." Both men nodded.

The clerk continued by saying, "and as I always say, a little error rectified in time saves tears!" He chuckled at his own joke and continued to nod his large baldhead, looking at one and then the other. "I always like to say that," the clerk repeated.

Erik rolled his eyes, turning away from the man. Father and son walked out of the clerk's office as quickly as they could. Autumn was upon them, and the air outside was brisk. There was a light drizzle. Both men picked up their collars and donned their hats. They descended the steps of the Palais de Justice. Without saying another word, they climbed into the waiting carriage. Louis knew better than to embrace Erik, so he comforted himself by tapping his son on the arm. "Well, it's done. I, for one, will sleep easier."

Erik turned to Louis. "I arranged with the managers for you to occupy Box Five tonight. Orfeo ed Euridice is playing, but unfortunately, it is with La Carlotta. You should hear it with my Christine as Euridice. Her voice is incomparable!"

"Thank you, I will certainly come tonight. Will Christine be singing soon?"

"She is not ready yet, but yes, soon."

The carriage moved away from the Île de la Cité.

"Will we be able to have dinner together?" Louis inquired.

"No, my wife is cooking for me,"

"Perhaps tomorrow, I will be here for the next few days." Louis wanted to mention that he wouldn't mind a last minute invitation to dinner, but he held back.

"Perhaps." Erik was unsure as to his future relationship with this man who was now officially his father.

They passed another carriage, and Louis tipped his hat, as Erik moved back into the shadows." That was Eduard Comte de Meux. Pleasant lad, his mother is a little overprotective. I could not catch who the young lady traveling with him was?

"Meg Giry, from the Opera House."

"I've seen her…a saucy little number that one…a ballerina, if I recall? His mother will never approve of the girl."

"She is my wife's closest friend," Erik said dryly.

Louis cleared his throat. "I see…well…" Louis felt embarrassed about the 'saucy' comment. "I hope I will be able to meet my daughter-in-law soon. You can bring her home to Rouen whenever you like."

"Yes…thank you." Erik said dryly.

Even if his son were reticent about establishing a long-term association with him, Louis would continue to pursue the matter. Erik was all the close family he had left, and he would not be brushed off. He was not blessed with all the talents of his father and, now obviously, his son. Therefore, Louis had learned to charm his way into almost anyone's heart. As testament to that, he had several former enemies with whom he could now share a drink. He would conquer his son's barricades and bring him, and his wife, home.

---------------------------------------------------------------o

Christine sat on the divan crying. She was supposed to be reading a lesson that Erik left for her. She could not concentrate, and so she cried, trying to cleanse her treacherous heart with tears. A heart that until recently had held a special place for a "secret love" that was not her husband. The note Hafiz handed Erik had said that Erik's father wanted to see him. _What if that note was a fake? Suppose it was from a woman? And, their destination was to a brothel?_ _I did not actually lay eyes on that note._ For all she knew the whole tale of his spending those days with his father might be a fabrication. There might not even be a father. She knew Erik was a master weaver of tales. She herself had fallen for the Angel of Music ruse. It could all be a ploy to foil her curiosity. She shuddered at the realization that she might be losing him to another woman.

A_ll these months I have denied him his marital rights!_ True, he had agreed, but she knew very well that no court would favor her. Most husbands by now would have made their demands felt. He had kept to his promise religiously. Never had he made a demand or chided her for not pleasing him, nor had he ever hinted at his desires. He had respected her wishes and honored his promise. He slept in her bed, held her, yet took no pleasure for himself. All this time he… _What if he has sought pleasure in the arms of another? What if the other woman doesn't care about the mask? Would he wait for me to change my mind someday? He has to have another woman. I know it! _Within a few minutes, Christine had convinced herself of her husband's infidelity. _And, whose fault is it Christine? She punished herself. I have to put a stop to this right now._ She lay on the bed again, as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. She was not going to lose her husband to some two-sous whore.

She heard a rumbling every now and again. The door was closed, and she felt safe, but she was always a little afraid to be five floors below the Opera House_. Maybe it's that fellow with whom Erik does business. Perhaps he is about. _She continued attempting to read her book, trying not to think about her husband's whereabouts. She heard another rumbling, this time near the door.

"Erik? Erik?" She called out.

"Yes, love, it is I." He said taking off his cape and hanging it up.

She ran up, hugged him, and with same momentum moved back, her mouth open.

"You reek of cheap perfume! Where have you been?" She snapped. Her suspicions were right.

"What?" She had never questioned his whereabouts, or spoken to him in that tone. "What are you talking about?"

"Why are you doing this to us? I thought…there was no need." A thick tear rolled down her cheek.

"Christine, I really do not know what you are …"

"Where have you been Erik?" She demanded.

"I will not be questioned like a child!"

"Your actions are not the actions of a child! Where were you?"

"I was with _my_ father." He told her in a strained tone.

"So, it was the company of a man that led you to smell like a cheap…"

"I smell nothing." He interrupted her. "You are imagining things." He spoke with such force and certainty that she began to doubt her senses.

Hafiz popped up just behind Erik.

"Good evening. I am sorry to intrude at this time, Christine, but I seem to have left my bag here." The Persian said.

"Well, take your things, and it's away with you," Erik told him.

"Good evening, I suppose you were in my husband's company," Christine addressed Hafiz. She stood, her hands resting firmly on her hips.

"Not exactly, I was waiting for his return and just saw him arrive…so I could get my bag." He wrinkled his nose sniffing around him, and finding the source of the offending odor, he clapped a hand on Erik's shoulder. "My goodness Erik, you can't afford a scent that smells any better?"

"So, I'm not the only one who smells it, nor am I imagining anything." Christine crowed triumphantly. "And you, shame on you. To bring him back in this condition. You could have bathed!" She shouted, as she ran to her room.

"That was a stupid comment Daroga. You deserve a slow lingering death just for that." Erik said, pacing the room. He returned to stand in front of the Persian. "Why is it so impossible for you to stay out of my business? Honestly, Daroga, it would be healthier for you to do so."

"Were you arguing about that?" Asked the Persian in all innocence.

"Yes, you great booby! You confirmed, I do not know what's in her mind."

"She thinks you have been with another woman." Hafiz informed him.

"Do not mock me. You already owe me your life today!"

"You smell of whore's perfume, Erik! What do you want her to think?" The older man shook his head.

"Just as I was about to turn in here, I gave alms to some poor wretch on the Rue Scribe, who then threw herself on me. You might have seen her on passing. She could not have been more than five and twenty, but she looked ancient. Pitiful! She will not last this winter. Other than that, I spent the day with my father. That is what I told her I would do, and that is what I did, to the letter. She should never doubt my word!"

"You smell of another woman you idiot! And your wife is jealous!"

Why would Christine, or anyone, assume that a normal woman would go near him, unless she was mad. Erik could not see why it should bother Christine, if a woman did approach him. Before their marriage, she had made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him intimately. _A perfectly understandable position being that I look like a monster from head to toe._ Out of the goodness of her heart, she had, on occasion, favored him with a kiss and always kissed him goodnight when they were in bed. She would turn the lamp down, take his mask off, and lightly kiss him goodnight. Although, last night and this morning led him to suspect there might be a change in her position. _This morning, she kissed me with my mask off, and in the light for goodness sake!_ Still, what Hafiz suggested was impossible. No woman, especially Christine, could be jealous of what he might do.

Christine overheard Erik's explanation to the Persian. To her relief, he had not been with another woman. Tomorrow, she would settle her problem with Raoul and then set the wheels in motion to seduce her husband. She sat on the bed with her knees up against her chest wondering what it would be like when they were fully together. She felt her cheeks heat up.

Erik gave the Persian a look of disgust and turned away from him. The Persian grabbed his bag and departed quickly, as if his safety depended on it. Erik went into the bathroom and scrubbed himself odorless.

She was already in bed when he entered the room. Quietly, he slipped in between the sheets.

"Erik?"

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	15. Chapter 15 Revelations

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story, such as Louis and Eduard, belong to me.

**A/N:** A super special thank you to my beta Busanda. I gave her the chapter late this week, and she worked her magic in record time. THANK YOU!

Thank you to all my readers (**458** as of today). I am happy to see that interest is growing in the story. Leave a review if you get a chance.

**We had quite a crop of reviewers this week. I wish to thank each and everyone of you:** Quiet 2885, Dani blues, draegon-fire, Kryss LaBryn, Sarah Crawford, Twinkle22, Voldivoice, Virginie, Ripper de la Blackstaff, Litchick84, Busanda, Sue Raven, Freak88, LoveMe 1010, myldetryth, Xxnot obsessedxx justpassionatexX, Anita, Lothiel, Shadow Fox Forever, Soul of power Rocks out loud, dunkmoonx, AngelsRose423, NekO-Chan, Christine 06, RubyMoon2, Phantomange132

**Chapter 15**

**Revelations**

He had not dreamt last night, so there could be no confusion. Although his eyes remained closed, he was certain of this particular reality. Christine was kissing him, and he was not wearing his mask! "Bonjour Erik. Come on we have a big day ahead of us" She bounded off the bed. By the time his eyes fluttered open, she was on her way to the bathroom. He licked his lips to savor her gift.

Erik recalled the Persian's words. A woman jealous of what he might do! The Persian had to be wrong, because when they went to bed last night she was affable. They had talked until late, drinking wine, and kissing. How he loved her kisses. Since his trip to Rouen, she was so free with them and actually seemed to be eager for him to kiss her. His hand grabbed his mask from the side table. He held the mask in his hand, turning it over, but did not put it on. _I cannot wear it until breakfast is over! _He sighed softly and put it back on the night table. She could not understand how naked and vulnerable he felt without the mask; the slightest comment or look, however unintentional, could wound him mortally. She was adamant that everyday they share this meal without his mask between them. Hence, during their breakfast his insecurities lay on the plate before him.

Christine had brushed his lips, as she put his breakfast in front of him. That was not easy because he always kept his head as low as his neck would allow. Somehow, she had swung around from the side and claimed his lips. He loved it when she did that, it did not give him time to get nervous. Lately, she had him so fired up that even a brush of her lips was enough to start him down the path of deep longing. All the self-restraint he had forced on himself in his 42 years of life was gone. He wanted her badly, and it was becoming impossible to hide it. That tiny kiss she had just given him would keep him at the breakfast table for at least an hour, in an attempt not to embarrass himself.

Last night she had not wanted to go to bed with an argument hanging between them. She turned over, and after taking off his mask, she whispered.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I'm a little thirsty."

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"Actually, I was thirsty for a little wine."

"Wine! You seldom drink wine! Ah…but, I'll bring some for you."

"Would you join me?" she asked, before he was out the door.

"Yes, I will join my wife in a glass, or two, if her thirst demands it."

He returned with two glasses of wine and a bottle.

"This is a Chateau Latour, a particularly fine year, 1868," he said. "It is a Bordeaux."

"Sip gently, my love. This is a wine to be savored."

He took up his glass and swirled the liquid. He put the glass flush to his nasal opening, and inhaled deeply.

"Do not drink from yours yet," she said to him, getting closer. "Taste it from my lips."

He had looked at her as if she offered him a banquet, and he, a starving mongrel, was ready to lap up what she offered. "Christine…"

He kissed her tenderly, flicking his tongue on her lips. She opened slightly, but he did not enter, leaving her as hungry as he was.

"You did not taste much," she had reprimanded him, looking peeved.

"The night is long Christine, and a Bordeaux should never be rushed." Golden flecks sparkled in his eyes. Is he flirting with me? She wondered, amused.

They drank and talked for a while, feeling a little woozy; she turned over and buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her tightly. The last thing she recalled was the soothing comfort she felt in his arms.

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After breakfast, he readied himself for another meeting with Louis. The man had insisted on Erik being named his heir officially. This was a prospect that Erik had originally refused, but now he saw as an opportunity that held lifelong possibilities for both himself and Christine.

Just before he pushed off on the boat, she had pressed herself to him, and they shared a long, deep kiss at the edge of the lake. She whispered something in his ear about a surprise for that night. He no longer felt like going anywhere. He felt warm all over, his longing provoked again by her proximity. Somehow, he managed to leave, to meet the man that claimed him as his son.

She had meant to ask Erik about that strange rumbling she heard every once in awhile—this morning while he slept she had heard it again. It sounded like it was coming from inside the walls. His leaving had distracted her, and she forgot. She would not bring it up when he returned.

_Tonight, I am going to be fully his wife! _She felt nervous as she fingered the peach silk nightgown. She decided to try it on. It fit every curve of her body. It had a low décolletage trimmed with lace and a high leg slit. She would wear her hair down just the way he liked it_. This is just like in a dress rehearsal for the opera! _She giggled to herself. _This will be our wedding night!_ She was turning and twirling around in front of the mirror when she felt eyes watching her. Startled, she spun. Erik stood in the doorway, his eyes opened as wide as his mask allowed.

"I…I left my…Christine…" His voice caught. He continued to stare, unable to move from his spot, his mouth slightly open.

She too was unable to move.

"Dear God…you are…" He murmured but was unable to find the words in his jumbled mind. His eyes roamed her body, falling finally on her chest. The yearning and need in his eyes disturbed her, reminding her of her failure as a wife. "Erik!" She made a dash for the bathroom.

In her cotton nightgowns he had thought her the most alluring creature. The vision he had just seen was incomprehensible. He had no defenses against it._ That had to be the surprise she had for tonight! Oh God! Nine hours until nightfall. _If his trip were not so essential to their future, he would demand that 'surprise' right now. He had never imagined that a woman could look so radiant. _If she wants to be intimate, which I doubt, she will surely be sorely disappointed with this inexperienced old man! _How could he even think that she would consider doing with him the things he desperately wanted to do with her. _She would never let me caress her legs and slip her stockings…_ "Oh, Christine." Safe reason flew out, letting dangerous hope in. _Do not spoil everything now, Erik! You are not like others; those things are not meant for you._ He tried to control his thoughts before they destroyed his resolve. _What would happen if I go back into that bedroom now and…?_ What in heaven's name had he returned for? He sat on the divan to calm down. He wrote music in his head and concentrated on not forgetting the notes. Suddenly remembering what he had returned for, he retrieved the papers he needed from his bedroom and left quickly, before she could cause more damage to his pledge.

----------------------------------------------------o

She stared at her red face in the mirror. _So much for a surprise Christine!_ She remembered Mme. Giry's words. "Do not create a scene for a situation that you caused." That was just what she had done last night. It turned her stomach to remember the smell of that cheap scent on him. She could barely imagine the type of woman that would wear that rubbish. At least he had been only an innocent victim of gratitude. _But is there another woman?_ _First, he had no family. Now suddenly, he has a father with whom he has to be away with for days, who is now in back in Paris, and whom he has to see every day_. Wouldn't he want this father to meet his wife?

Tonight, nothing and no one would stop her from giving herself to her husband. "I'll bet you anything, she is not crying or making demands," Mme. Giry had said. " She takes what he gives her, and she gives him what he needs. Don't push him further into her arms." The old woman had wrinkled her forehead like a paper fan. "You will wear this nightgown with a ribbon from one of his roses in your hair. Wear him down, Christine. He will not be able to resist you for long. Remember to forget your dressing gown outside the bathroom. Then you can come out in this…" Mme. Giry held up a filmy peach nightdress with tiny roses on the low-cut neckline. "Ah yes, this will do it!" The old woman had grinned mischievously. Christine put her nightgown away until nighttime. Loving Erik was decidedly hard work.

------------------------------------------------------o

She wore one of her new dresses. It was of a slightly-serious, gray plaid with lace around the collar and sleeves. It did not look enticing but modest and demure. Her make-up was minimal, and she wore no scent. She took the little boat and rowed herself across the lake. Then she climbed the stairs and walked to the Giry home. Erik did not like her to walk around alone, but he would not be back for hours, and she had to end this business today. She would be back long before he returned. There were other details pending for their special night.

Meg opened the door for Christine. Her friend looked serious and even sported a little frown. "He is here," she whispered. "Are you sure this is what you want, Christine?"

Before she had a chance to change her mind, Christine nodded and pushed past Meg, entering the room. Raoul stood by the door. He was dressed in a white brocade tailcoat; his hair looked resplendent in gold curls. A small neat mustache graced his lip. His eyes were a deeper blue than she remembered, graced by long lashes. He had looked like a frightened boy at Mariage Frénes. Today, he looked like the young man with whom she had played engagement games; he was so very handsome it astounded her. "Oh!" She ran into his arms.

"Christine, I have you again. Never will I let you go, never," he said, burying his face into her hair to hide his tears.

"Oh Raoul, I have missed you," she said, comforted by his arms. How easy it would be to walk away with Raoul, no complications. She would have everything she could think of, a handsome husband who adored her, a title, riches, friends, fine gowns, and balls to attend—nothing that she really wanted.

"How did you escape him? Never mind, tell me later. Let us leave this place quickly," he urged, holding her tighter to him.

"Are you alright, Ms. Daaé?" Philippe asked her from behind his brother. "You will be fine now. Do not worry. Your plight is over."

She nodded, feeling dazed. _Why is Philippe here?_

"Come; let us be gone before that monster comes after you." Raoul insisted.

His words brought her back to reality.

"Raoul, I am married!"

"It is not a valid marriage," the young vicomte responded.

"Erik and I…we married before God."

"He forced you to marry him. The Church will annul your union to that masked fiend, and then we can be married at the Madeleine." He pulled her to him, running his fingers through her hair and kissing her forehead.

His embrace felt warm and safe. She would be safe with Raoul. He would protect her. Protect her from what—masked men? _All I have to do is walk away with Raoul, and I can have it all. I can just erase the past few months. He is right, the Church would annul the marriage, if Count Philippe asked for it. Erik!_ A vivid picture of his deformed face rushed into her mind. Erik would be alone again in the cellars. Who would make sure he ate properly? She couldn't think of a moment during the day when she felt more contented than when she woke up to see his flawed face on the pillow next to her.

She had to end this now and get on with her life—her wonderful life with her husband. Her little girl's dreams must not spoil her reality. Damn Raoul, for putting those treacherous thoughts in her head, and damn her for letting him do so.

She tried to push back from him, but he held her fast. "Did you not get my letter, Raoul? I explained it all. I…I just came to say good-bye."

"I will not let you go again." Turning to his brother, he said, "He has mesmerized her, we must take her away now."

_Take me away. Against my will!_ She could not believe his gall. "Look here Raoul; I am mistress of my own thoughts and actions. I tell you monsieur that I am a married woman, and I will not go with you," she said, her temper rising. _How dare he not take my wishes into account?_

"Christine, he has turned you against me!" The vicomte turned to look at her as though she had just slapped his face.

"Believe what you will, but this meeting is at an end monsieur," she added, exasperated.

"Then let me have one more hug, my beloved, as you would hug a dying man." A tear rolled down his young pale face, aging him as it dropped away. "For that is what I am, as you refuse my love." She hugged her old friend, allowing him a good-bye hug in return. "You will be fine, Raoul. Why, your dance card will be filled in no time," she joked, giving him a big smile..

Raoul held her in his arms and, as she pulled away, claimed her mouth. She was too shocked to do anything. She saw Philippe turn away in embarrassment. _Raoul is trying to convince me with his kiss. Poor Raoul, he can't tell that his kisses mean nothing to me._ Ending the kiss, she pushed against him, but obstinately he held on to her. "Raoul, stop…" He took the opportunity to seize another kiss. Her head jerked back, "Raoul!"

Erik threw the door open and stepped into the room. Christine saw that he was dressed in his usual black; his cape hung down, folded back from his shoulders. Tall and lean, he looked resplendent. The black mask added an air of danger. She looked at both men, one to the other, in the same room. Raoul's boyish handsomeness paled in comparison with her husband's magnetism. Erik exuded menace. In him, she did have it all.

"Gentlemen!" He bowed slightly keeping his eyes on her. She met his eyes. The hurt and disappointment in them nearly killed her. Why was he here_? He was supposed to be visiting with his father. How did he know I was here? He must think I meant to leave with Raoul. How much did he see? _There was steel in his eyes, where a golden glow had blazed this morning.

"Erik, I…" she shuddered, disentangling herself from Raoul. She heard Raoul draw his rapier. Her stomach jumped, and her eyes went to her husband. He was unarmed. _Why would he be armed? He must have returned early, and guessing where I could be, he came to pick me up._ A stranger came into the room. Although he seemed familiar to her, Christine did not know him. He was an older man, handsome, and obviously a noble too. The older man's eyes grew very wide at the sight of Erik, yet he did not seem frightened. His sword was already drawn.

"You brute, you will not escape me." Raoul lunged and made contact with Erik's side. Erik grimaced and moved sideways.

"Raoul! Stop, he is not armed," Christine cried. She attempted to pull back on Raoul's arm, but he would not budge.

Erik swung his cape across Raoul's face, making Raoul move back a few steps. She heard another sword leave its scabbard. _Three against one! God, help us. They aim to kill him_! Her whole body shook with fear for her husband. She bit her lip. _I do not want to be his widow!_ Philippe advanced on Erik from the side. Christine moved quickly and stepped in front of Erik. Erik pushed her to his other side, "No Erik, let me stay here. They won't dare …" She looked around for Meg to engage her help, but she could not see her. Raoul lunged again but missed. Erik moved, and Christine tried to stay as close to him as he would allow. She saw Philippe move toward Erik's flank, as did the stranger.

Louis took the opportunity to hold on to Raoul's arm with one hand, and lower Philippe's sword with his own. "No, Philippe, he is not armed."

"As you can see, sir, I am no more than a rabid dog to all." Erik addressed the older man.

"Gentlemen's rules need not apply to me." With those words, a copious puff of smoke enveloped them. Christine felt Erik's arm tighten around her waist, lifting her. She closed her eyes as they moved through the cloud of smoke. When she opened her eyes, they were no longer in Meg's room. Erik's hand covered her mouth tightly. She clung to him. _Thank you, God. He is safe. I will repay you by loving him even more. Never, never will I do something stupid like this again._ Her childishness had nearly cost his life. Through the partition, she clearly heard the men. All three men talked at once.

"Don't let that fiend get away."

"I can't see a thing," said Philippe

"Christine! Careful, he must be holding her as a shield," cried Raoul

"You shouldn't have stopped me, Louis," cried Philippe.

"What? Let you run an unarmed man through?" Louis asked. "Your father would have been appalled."

"He has taken her again!" cried Raoul

"Mercy! How could he just vanish?"

"It did not seem that the young lady wanted to stay. Did she not run to his side?" The older man asked Raoul.

"He has her mesmerized!" Raoul insisted.

"Then, she is no worse off than before," Philippe consoled his brother.

"Damn him straight to hell! I had her." Raoul countered, his voice sounded heavy with grief.

"Where is the Giry girl?" Philippe asked.

Christine heard steps enter the room; a deep masculine voice said, "What is going on in here?"

"They were here Eduard! Where is Christine?" asked Meg.

"Mademoiselle, both Christine Daaé and that phantom have disappeared," Philippe informed her.

"Was that the unarmed man you meant to kill?" Asked Eduard, his voice dripping with disdain.

"I…I only…" stammered Philippe.

"Such ungentlemanly behavior…" Eduard countered.

"They have to be here. There's a trick to all this," insisted Raoul.

"I'll have you all leave Mademoiselle Giry's room now," commanded Eduard. "And, to commit such a cowardly deed in front of ladies."

"I'll have you know, monsieur, that I am no…"

"Come, he is right. Let's leave the lady's room," said Louis. "Philippe, I must talk with you privately."

"Only a demon can disappear at will." Philippe commented.

"If he is a demon then, we should return armed with a priest and not swords," Louis insisted. "Come lad, this is not something…"

Two of the voices faded. "Vicomte, again I must ask you to leave the lady's chambers," Eduard said. Footsteps faded, and then, silence. Just before they turned away, they heard Meg's voice. "Christine? Can you hear me? They are gone. It is safe. I hope you can hear me my friend."

Erik let go his hold on Christine's mouth. They emerged from the corridor that led into the main hallway to one leading down to the cellars. Erik began to walk and pushed her ahead, as he followed. Neither said a word. They had been in these hallways so many times. The only difference now was his jagged breathing. By the time they walked into their home, Christine knew his temper was running high.

She turned back toward him, looking down at his bleeding side. "You are hurt, let me…"

He pushed her hands away, as if they were contaminated. "It is nothing!"

"But, it must be cleaned."

He spun to face her. His eyes blazing like molten steel. "Why must it be cleaned, Christine? Is it so that I do not get an infection? We would not want poor Erik to die, would we? That would make you a widow, and you could go to your lover honestly. Oh no, but it is much more fun to cockle Erik. Make a fool of the disfigured monster, and keep a lover on the side. That is fun. Is it not, Christine?"

"It was not what it looked like," she answered. "Erik, you are bleeding. Let me see to your wound."

He threw off his jacket and tore apart his shirt, sending buttons flying. He ripped through the cloth until the shirt hung bloody and useless at his sides. Erik then unsheathed his ivory-hilted dagger. He put the dagger to the lantern's flame. He kept his back to her. She could see his ribs, clearly marked on his back. His backbone protruded, each vertebra jutting out, somehow making him look reptilian.

Suddently, he turned and grabbed her wrists, shoving her against the wall and holding her up with one large hand. The dagger glowed, as red as the blood that poured from his side. "Look, Christine," he sneered. "Look! This is how you cure an animal like me."

He stared at her with eyes glowing as bright as the knife. Then he pressed the blade to his side without taking his eyes from her. His face betrayed no acknowledgement of pain. He let her arms go.

She heard a sizzle, and her legs gave out under her. The smell of his burned flesh reached her nostrils. Her hand went to her mouth, gagging. A sound caught in her throat. She slumped against him, her face completely devoid of color. "Oh God, Erik…" she held her head in her hands. He pushed her back against the wall, holding her there. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

"That is how I have taken care of myself all my life. Not with your silly little salves, stupid potions, and tonics to dull the senses… used only to fool me in to thinking you cared for me. No one has ever cared for Erik! Certainly not my mother, nor my pathetic excuse for a father. He must now think he has done a great deed. I did not need him, or you, to save myself and procure my property."

He cackled, filling the cavern with his sound.

He wiped his dagger on his trousers and sheathed it. "Are you worried it might leave a scar?" More laughter followed his words. "With this face… do you really think I worry about scars?"

He let her go, and she slid down the wall, still conscious but unable to stand. Her eyes were glued to the gnarled, darkened flesh at his side. He paced in front of her. He stopped by her feet. "You, placing yourself in front of me. What a grand gesture!" He applauded looking out into the room, as if he expected others to join him. "You looked the picture of a perfect wife…while we know what you are. Don't we, Christine?" His voice was distorted with anger.

"Let me explain. I was…"

His hand shot out, and he seized her chin, bringing his face close to hers. He saw her wince and ignored it. "Let you fool me with your lies again?" He roared. "You think if you bat your lashes at me again I will believe anything that spills out of that vile mouth of yours. No my dear, it is over. Do not bother to speak, because I cannot hear you. You must take me for a total fool. Your obedient servant is no more!"

"How sad, you must feel that your plot failed. Erik lives, and has recaptured his treasure!"

He let her go and continued his pacing in front of her. Christine gathered her knees up to her chest and wept onto them.

"This morning, was that nightgown to entice him while I was gone? Is that why you did not want me to see it? Of course, you thought I was gone and were already waiting for your lover."

"Erik, let me tell you…"

Ignoring her he said, "Do you remember that agreement, Christine? Do you remember when you made me swear not to touch you? I was too repulsive to bed my own wife. I agreed to the most humiliating of contracts just so I could bask in your company."

"I am so very sorry I did that… you know things have changed," she sobbed.

"Indeed, they have changed, dear girl. You have forfeited our nuptial agreement by meeting with your lover. So, I now claim my full marital rights!" He thundered.

"I offer to be your wife fully…"

"I don't want your charity. Erik takes what he wants!"

"Will you force me then?"

"Will I need to? It would seem to me, you are more than willing to bestow your favors on anyone. Ah, but of course, my accursed face…well then, maybe I will need to be persuasive in my demands," he snickered.

"You do not need to force me to give what I would willingly surrender."

"What sweet words you speak now that you are cornered. Why did you not speak them last night, when you were in my arms?

"I was waiting for tonight."

"Ah yes, waiting for your lover."

"No Erik, listen to me…"

"How many times have you met with him? Every time you visited with your allies upstairs? He demanded.

"Oh Erik, I have been so foolish."

"The day you were late…yes, yes, …you were with him! Did you also bring him here? You must have had such fun while I was gone to Rouen. Did the boy come down here to bed you? Did you writhe with him in our bed, as you would not do with me?" His face contorted in anger. "Your duplicitous heart has made you my property now. I insist on my marital rights," he shouted.

"Not like this Erik… you are full of rage," she pleaded. What will you do if I say no…ravish me?"

"Take you? After he has had his hands all over you?"

"Erik. He has never!"

"Christine, you are as innocent in matters of the flesh, as I am of spilling blood."

"Erik!"

"I thought you an angel, a clean, untouched angel. I would have been happy to live with you a lifetime and never touch you. I did not want to soil you with my…my …my decayed body, or my face. Now, I find I was denying myself from touching a common wanton!"

"Please, Erik, no more."

"My, but you are a good actress…you played the role of the ingénue well…you had Erik fooled. I admit it, I believed you innocent. So much so that when you took my book, I believed your blushes. Too late, I find that you were getting ideas, planning things you could do with your vicomte. You had a good laugh on me. Congratulations!"

"Erik, listen to me. Let us sit down…"

"And now, a goodly number of your own will pay for a harlot's sin."

"I want to go to my room," she pleaded.

"Do you want a good laugh, Christine? Do you?" he asked, dangerously. "I am an ingénue, in that respect. I have never been with a woman…no, not ever. You look shocked. Why would any woman lie with a living corpse? Yes, your kisses have been my first. It is in other respects that I have been a whore. Indeed, now I find we are both whores," he said, tonelessly. "I receive 20,000 francs per month for my services to the Opera House. How much does the vicomte pay you for your services?"

She walked up to him and, ignoring the mask, slapped him hard. Erik jumped back making a guttural sound, putting both hands to his mask. He groaned in pain.

"Oh God, Erik, I forgot. Forgive me." She tried to pull his hands away, but he would not let her.

"Forgot? I highly doubt that. Nevertheless, your strength is to be admired. However, I would not be disagreeable to admitting that I most likely merited that." He laughed again.

She cringed at his laughter, and made the sign of the cross.

"And you think that will protect you from Erik? It did not protect hundreds before you."

"Please, I want to go to my room," she repeated.

"So… you want to go to your room?" he said, grabbing her wrist. He pulled her behind him and began to walk toward the bedroom. "Let us go see why you might want to go there, my dear wife."

------------------------------------------------oo

Sorry for the cliffie but the word count was over 5,000. Actually, it isn't my fault at all. It's going to take them 6 days to walk across to her bedroom.


	16. Chapter 16 Descent

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

_**A/N:** Thank you to my beta, Busanda, who as usual has done a marvelous job. _

_Wow! We had 548 readers this week. Thank you to all of you. Please review if you have an extra minute._

_Thanks to my faithful and new reviewers:, SOPROL, Black Despair, Zareka, dunkmoonx, Anita, Cheekiebabie, Quiet2885, Hanna Banana, Familyfreakguy, Twinkle22, Virginie, megumisakura, LoveMe1010, Rubymoom2, Busanda, mildetryth, scorpionorchid, Kryss La Bryn, Shadow Fox Forever, Dani blues, draegon-fire, Theraincan'thurtmenow, Phamton angel132, litchik84, Freak88._

Note: Dear readers please remember that this Erik is Leroux's Erik

**Chapter 16**

**Descent**

He thought he had seen her hide something among her things. His chest felt tight; he prayed he was wrong and there would be nothing there. What he had witnessed upstairs was appalling enough. Pulling her by the arm, he crossed over to her room in a few determined strides. He walked up to her dresser, opened a drawer, and began to run his hand through the soft fabrics. The drawer contained neatly folded chemises.

"You have no right," she said from behind him. "Why do you go through my things? Please let me rest."

Leaving the first drawer a shambles, he opened another drawer and began rifling through her corsets and pantalettes. He touched every nook and cranny, finding nothing but her underwear. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. His heart sang with joy. _Perhaps I did imagine it. She may have just been putting away her clothes._ He felt her pull on his arms, but he chose to ignore her, continuing his maddening quest.

"Please Erik, let me rest now. I feel quite tired. You would not want me falling ill would you? We can talk later," she said, attempting to turn him away from the dresser.

Holding his breath, he opened the last drawer. He wasn't completely sure he wanted to know what she could be hiding, but he felt compelled to continue the search. Christine, unrelentingly, pulled at him to no avail; he could not stop himself.

She pulled desperately on his arms. "These are my things. Stop, Erik…oh please, stop!" she cried.

Her nightgowns were folded and neatly stacked. He dug through roughly, sending them flying through the air. Papers floated down from between the folds of fabric. His heart stopped. He took a shallow breath, while bending down to pick up one of the sheets of paper. Fearfully, he licked his dry lips, and slowly unfolded the paper.

She tried to snatch it from his hands, but he placed it beyond her reach as he read the letter. She gasped. He read the short letter and turned to her. The tightness in his chest and throat increased, spreading downward. His arm hung heavily by his side as it held the letter.

"My recipe, Christine?" he cried mournfully. "This is the special meal you were going to make for _me_?" his voice was cold, but laced with undisguised hurt. His eyes overflowed behind the mask, but he did not remove it to wipe his face.

"I…I…Oh Erik," she couldn't meet his eyes. What excuse could she give him?

Although she could barely see behind her own tears, she scrambled on the floor to pick up the rest of her papers. Perhaps, he would not see the full extent of her foolishness.

His eyes settled on a piece of cardboard lying on the floor; his heart somersaulted as he bent and touched it. He untangled it from one of her nightgowns. As he held the blank rectangle in his hands, he knew it was a photograph turned upside down. Harboring hope that it might belong to her father or to her precious Mamma Valérius, with trembling hands and in one breath, he flipped the photograph over.

"Stop, it's mine," she whimpered. "It…is mine…" Her head fell to her chest, and she cried. "I'm sorry… I am so sorry, Erik," she whispered. On all fours, she desperately gathered her remaining notes and letters.

The picture had been taken recently, for the boy looked about the same. He was in a naval uniform, his curly blond locks brushed back. His face appeared so sweet and beautiful that it could have been a girl's, the lips plump and the eyes bright and hopeful. Only the wisp of a mustache gave away his gender.

Erik got on his knees so he could face her. He held Raoul's picture up to her. "Is this what you are looking for, my dear?" he asked in a low menacing tone. "He really is a handsome boy, isn't he? Look at the picture, Christine," he said, putting the picture closer to her turned face. "Look!" he yelled. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to face the picture he had in his other hand. "I said look at your lover's picture!" he shouted. "Is this what you looked at before you kissed me so that my hideousness would not drive you insane?" His tears rolled onto his chest from beneath the mask. Sobbing, he asked, "Why did you kiss me Christine? I was better off before you kissed me. Now I know what I can never have. Look at him! I said. You see him?" he insisted. "You see your lover? He will never have you, and you will never leave these cellars!"

He snatched the other pieces of paper from her hands. She did not try to stop him. She saw him open and read another of Raoul's letters. Slowly he refolded them, and with the picture, tucked them in his jacket's pocket. A sob choked in his throat. "How duplicitous of you both, my dear. And did you think you could do away with Erik so easily? Some plot, as if Erik would fall for that simpleton's trap! You would have stood a better chance using the poison I gave you."

He picked up the peach nightgown she had worn that morning. He caressed the fabric gingerly. Erik brought it up to his mask, lifted it a little, and inhaled deeply. "It was all for him!" he mumbled under his breath.

"You looked so beautiful in it. This morning… I thought… Foolishly, I thought you were wearing it for me," he snarled bitterly. "I…I thought someone had learned to care for me…wanted me." His voice was lifeless. His sadness was too deep to be reflected in his voice. She saw it in his eyes. She saw such inconsolable sorrow in his eyes, more than she had seen in all her life, and her own tears began to flow again. He got up, and she saw him stagger a little. He reeled in place, but he held on to her dresser. He straightened up with difficulty, while looking at the nightgown again. Crumpling the soft fabric into a ball, he brusquely threw it at her face.

"Change!" he ordered.

Christine wanted to tell him that she cared. She wanted to grab him and make him listen to her declaration of love, but she feared his reaction. "Erik, please." Her lies and subterfuge had created this cold man who had taken the place of her Erik.

"Change!" he bellowed. Still on her knees, she closed her eyes, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.

He had every right in the world to be furious. True, she had met Raoul with the intention of putting an end to the young man's delusions as to the state of their relationship, but she had done so behind her husband's back. She had written and received letters from her former fiancé, again behind her husband's back. How could he believe that she was not betraying him?

She waited for him to hit her. _Perhaps he will just kill me, and get it over with._ Lost in her thoughts, she heard the door to her bedroom slam. Any other husband would have beaten her already. He had found her in another man's arms, kissing, found another man's picture among her things. He had also found letters from that man threatening his life and promising to take her away. If all he did were to beat her, every man in France would consider him weak. _Perhaps he went to get a gun, or he will parade me through the streets as an adulteress_. She took her new dress off and donned the peach nightgown—the nightgown meant to begin their new life together. She felt she did not deserve to cry, and so she held her tears back. Christine sat on her bed, waiting for the end.

-----------------------------------------------o

He opened the door again and came in; he did not say a word. With his finger, he motioned for her to stand. She could see nothing of his eyes, no fire, no steel, just two black endless holes, as black as his mask. It was as if he had plucked his eyes out. He looked in her direction for a long time, his mouth grimly set, his fists balled up at his sides. Without a word, he turned on his heels, closing the door behind him.

Later in the day, he pushed a tray in with food and then locked the door again. She had not expected this kindness from him. Why didn't he just let her starve? She drank some tea and nibbled at the cold meat. She was certain it was to be her last meal before her execution. Then she heard the sound, it was low at first, then it swelled to fill the entire cavern, making the walls quiver. He was sobbing. Now and then, a long moan would interrupt the sobs. The heart-wrenching sounds continued for hours. She held her head, putting her hands to her ears, but it still slipped through. She could not rest or sleep while his sobs tore at her heart. _I'm sorry, Erik!_ Eventually it stopped, and she fell asleep. Dark circles formed under her eyes.

In the morning, she heard him walking outside her door. _He is coming for me_! The footsteps went back and forth in front of her door, exactly the same number of steps in each direction, 28 in all. She could hear him talking to himself, but she could not make out the words. At times, it sounded like a chant, at others, like an argument. At some point during the day, another tray was shoved in, the first one having disappeared during the night. Was he feeding her before the slaughter?

------------------------------------------------------o

"That is an incredulous story, Louis," said Philippe. He gulped his whiskey. "But how can you be so certain?"

"You remember my father, don't you?" he asked the younger man.

"Of course, anyone who ever met him would."

"Why do you think he wore a mask?"

"I never thought much about it. I suppose I put it down to an old man's eccentricities… No, you can't mean…the Phantom's …Good Lord!" Philippe motioned to his footman to serve him again.

"His face had a deformity unlike anything you could imagine. I saw it twice. The last time, he was on his death bed."

"Still, he stole the girl…"

"And married her. They had a proper wedding. I have seen pictures. It's all legal. She is Christine Rouxville."

"A proper wedding you say…my poor little brother, he had such hopes. This is actually for the better, as far as I am concerned…but, he won't take it well."

"He is young, handsome…" offered Louis.

"Did that ever help you mend a broken heart?"

Louis lit his pipe and took a long drag. "My heart broke only once…and it mended…eventually," he smiled rakishly.

"I'll be damned," exclaimed Philippe.

"What for?"

"I've never cared enough for a woman to have a broken heart…sad really," said Philippe pensively. "Who knows, maybe Raoul is the luckier one.

"Will the girl be all right? I mean, if he thinks she meant to go away with my brother…"

"I hadn't thought of that…I must see Christine," said Louis, dragging hard on his pipe.

"Will he allow you into his home? You know what happened to Raoul," Philippe reminded him.

"I need to try."

------------------------------------------------------o

Three days passed. She did not see him, or hear from him. She tried to talk to him as he paced outside her door, but he never answered. His sobs and lamentations filled the nights. There was no music, and this worried her above all. As the days passed, Christine realized that he would not come to harm her. Instead, she could only imagine the horrors he was inflicting upon himself. The thought of his pain hurt her more than a beating would have. She remembered the straps on his wall, the ones with the metal tips. She shuddered. _Erik! I'm not worth it._ When the next tray appeared, she attempted to keep the door open, begged him to let her out, to listen to her. He said nothing, just gently pried her fingers off, and closed the door, locking it as always.

She had nothing to do. She had no books to read, no paper with which to write—nothing to do but think. That was exactly what Christine did not want to do. She did not want to think of her deceit. She did not want to think of his face lying beside her. She mourned for all she had taken for granted, and now lost. Instead of loathing him for locking her up, she came to loath herself for deceiving him. She remembered their meals together, sitting side by side, looking through their wedding pictures, Erik's reticent glances when he was unmasked. She longed for him, for his voice, his touches, his face. His ugliness gave her such comfort.

-------------------------------------------------o

He had not called on her for a few days. She would make him pay for that, probably by withholding what few favors she allowed him. _Ah Meggy._ It wasn't as if he did not wish to see her. Comte Eduard du Veille sur Meux believed himself a fake.

The morning of the incident with Christine Daaé, he had marched into Meg's room demanding the hostility to cease, as if he could have done something to stop the whole affair. He had virtually called Philippe de Chagny a coward. What if the man had challenged him to a duel? He knew the answer to that question better than anyone else did. No one would challenge him because they all knew that it was not sporting to duel with the likes of him. 'War Hero' they called him, after he returned from fighting the Prussians. Back in Paris, he was nothing more than a cripple. Meg was so proud of his medals. She did not fully realize all he had lost. Blast the medals! Meg had told him about the Phantom's supposed deformity. At least the Phantom had extricated himself and his woman from an unjust situation—three against one! To him, his missing arm was more of a problem than an ugly face. He disliked Philippe de Chagny even more now for his dishonorable comportment—to say nothing of his weakling, younger brother! However, as much as he might dislike them, they were whole and did not depend on others for their support.

What if that had been he instead of the Phantom? He would have been unable to rescue Meg. If he wasn't man enough to do that, what right did he have to present himself to her as such? He knew Philippe flirted with every skirt that passed, but it particularly irked him when he used his charms on Meg. _I would not be able to defend her honor._

-------------------------------------------------------o

Christine heard the bottom of the boat scrape as it arrived, then she heard agitated voices. She could only recognize Erik's voice. The other belonged to a man, but she could not identify it. Erik knocked and opened her door. She saw the older man that had lowered Philippe's sword_. If he is here, then perhaps Raoul himself was not far behind._ What would happen to Erik? Would they try to kill him again? How could she help him if she was locked up? Most importantly, why had Erik brought this man to their home? It unnerved her not to know.

Erik stayed away from her sight, as the man approached the opened door and asked her, "Are you all right, Christine?"

"Yes." Again, she noticed something so familiar about him, and yet she knew she had not laid eyes on him before three days ago. She didn't know to what point she could trust this man.

"Are you eating well?" His eyes wandered around the room, landing on the empty tray by the door.

"I am fine. My husband takes excellent care of me, as always." She lowered her voice a little. "But, would you do me a favor?"

"If I can," he said, scrutinizing her as he had done with the room.

"Can you make sure that my husband is well? I do not want him to be hurt." Her anguish for him spilled over.

The older man smiled at her words and nodded. "I assure you, my presence will not harm him."

The door to her room was closed again. What was it about this man that seemed so familiar?

She heard them speaking and, after a while, she again heard the scrapping of the boat's bottom as Erik returned.

Next morning, Erik let her out of the room. When she saw him, she was appalled at his disheveled appearance. His hair was untied, hanging loosely around his face and shoulders. He was thinner, much thinner. He wore a thick porcelain mask instead of his usual leather one. "Erik…"

He interrupted her by raising his hand. Looking away from her, he said, "I am sorry. I had not realized you had nothing to read in there. Please select some books and return to your room. I will provide you with paper later on. I trust you have ink and pen." With those words, he walked away from her.

While he spoke them, she rejoiced in the ethereal sound of his voice. _Erik, my Erik!_ She chose her books and returned to her room, as he had asked her to do. After a while, she heard him lock her door. Again, she heard him pacing in front of her room. She could barely read, thinking of the condition in which she had seen him. She had been right; he was starving himself, punishing himself for her foolishness.

That heavier mask must hurt him. He had not looked at her directly, but she could see his swollen, red-rimmed eyes through the mask's eyeholes. Tears burned her eyes and spilled onto her face. _Oh Erik, what have I done to us? Will you ever be able to forgive me?_

----------------------------------------o

His head felt as if it would explode. One more thought, one more memory, and he would burst like over-ripe fruit. He could barely feel his legs now. He had been walking almost continuously for three days, stopping only to prepare her meals, collapsing at the end of the day.

He dared not stop walking. It was back, that awful voice, suggesting terrible things. Oh, the wicked things it wanted him to do! He would not give in, and so it punished him by filling up his head. He in turn controlled the voice by not feeding it, exhausting himself, and keeping his body weak. While he walked, Erik was in control. He had to protect her, even if she did not love him. Christine had to be protected at all costs. He walked and walked, so that by the time he had to rest, he had no strength to do what the voice advised.

The voice had always been with him. It had helped him as a child when others made his life hell; it had suggested what to do with Karl. Only in Persia, had he given it full rein. It had been delicious to just give in to the voice. It had not been his fault, but others did not understand this. Erik did not like bloodshed; he loved music, art; he loved learning about science, architecture, and history. It was the voice that delighted in lifeless bodies, puddles of blood, and pain. How the voice enjoyed seeing others in pain!

The voice had been offended by Christine's actions. There was no reason, it was all his fault. She had never told him she loved him. He had hoped. Despite so many years of experience, he had dared to hope. It was not Christine's fault. She was only a silly child. The voice blamed her for Erik's broken heart. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a heart for a heart…" the awful voice suggested. " It would not take much, really, to snap that tiny neck…a few seconds…or less…" So, he had to stay vigilant—no sleeping on the job. While he was alive, nothing and no one would hurt his only love.

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	17. Chapter 17 The Torture Chamber

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**An extra special Thank you to my beta, Busanda, to whom I handed the chapter late, and stayed up to edit it so the story could be updated in a timely fashion. Please keep her great job in mind as you read. **

**A/N:** The number of readers reached over 500 this week again. Thank you for reading, and if you get a chance leave a review. It is very motivating to a writer!

**Thank you to all my reviewers.** LaRosaNegra000, Carillon, TheRainCan'tHurtMeNow, Sarah Crawford, Twinkle22, RubyMoon2, DCI Panda, zareka, Sue Raven, Ripper de la Blackstaff, Dani Blues, mildetryth, Phantomangel132, Silvertounge, draegon-fire, Virginie, neko-chan, dunkmoonX, BlackDespair, gravityisagoodthing, scorpionorchid, Busanda, Shadow Fox Forever, Hanna Banana, A Heart full of Sorrow, and , Anita.

The Story was selected for a third C2 Community. It is now available in: 1.A Scorpion's Poison 2.Dark Duets 3.Purely Leroux.

**Chapter 17**

**The Torture Chamber**

He sat in the library staring at the far wall, his body stock-still, no book graced his lap. As he heard the first scream, he gritted his teeth, then the second and third each more shrill than the last, making him dig his fingers into the armrest deeper. He wanted to move and run to her, but was unable to budge. He heard her call his name repeatedly, and heard the door handle rattling. Erik began to sweat. The banging began soon after, followed by more screams, still he sat growing pale, unmoving. _Christine!_ He heard items crashing in the room, his own flesh frozen, and wet. **_Let her learn! What would she do without Erik? She doesn't appreciate you._**

He had not eaten for three days now. Before Christine had come to live with him, he had gone four and five days without eating without any problems. After he married her, his body had gotten used to eating at least four meals a day. He was going through food withdrawal pains. For the first time in his life, he was thoroughly and completely famished. His stomach growled as it clamored for Christine's breakfast.

Never had he felt so weak and despondent. His clothing hung on his weakened body, like fancy clothes on a long dead cadaver. He heard her scream again. He held on to the chair armrest tightly until his knuckles turned white. Sweat covered his body; it ran down his face and back. The stream of tears blinded him. _My love! _His sobs began then, racking his thin body. He held on, digging his bony fingers into the fabric.

He had trusted her, believing that Christine had begun to care, however slightly, for him. No one had ever kissed him, and she did. He was grateful for that. What he could not get over was seeing her in the boy's arms, his lips on hers. Then to twist the knife further, he found the letters from the vicomte and the damned picture. **_They planned to destroy you._** _Kings have conspired against me and failed, and now this whippet of a vicomte thought he could win against Erik! **And who helped you beat them all, Erik? Who has always been on your side?**_

Exhausted, she then began to throw things from the top of her dresser toward its head, calling for her husband to rescue her. "Erik!" She sat on the flat, narrow top, keeping an eye on the slithering creature. It was at least three feet long with a small, flat head. The split tongue thrust out of its mouth with each movement it made. She watched the reticulated body slip under her bed. It came up by the headboard and crawled over her pillow, disappearing under the blankets. She could see its movement under the fabric. Christine ran to the door and tried to open it, she banged on the door. At the edge of the bed, it slid onto the floor. The creature reared its head and looked at her straight in the eyes. Her hair stood on end, and she screamed. The creature was creamy in color with dark bands across its back. She saw no life in its hard eyes, just two pinpoint dark spots on its head. They were so unlike Erik's eyes that, at any one moment, showed the milieu of emotions raging through him. His were the most expressive eyes she had ever known. When the creature tried to slither up the dresser, she ran from the door back on top of her bed and screamed at the top of her lungs. She still had a jar in her hand and threw it missing the creature. On its own, it finally desisted and slithered away. Carefully, she climbed atop the dresser again. Tears slid down her face, blurring her vision. _Oh God, I will not be able to see it now._ She bit her lips desperately looking toward the door. Where was Erik? He had to hear her screams. He always heard everything. _This is my punishment for betraying him. Am I to die from snakebite? Did I ever mention to him how much I hate snakes? How long is my punishment supposed to last? Until I'm dead? _"Erik!"_ He loves me. There has to be some forgiveness in his heart. _"Erik! Erik!"

Among the things that she threw from her dresser was the poison vial Erik gave her on their wedding day. Could she use it to poison this thing? How would she get it to swallow the poison? It crashed on to the floor and broke, spreading death everywhere. _Perhaps it would crawl over it and die._ The creature slithered away, ignoring the spreading puddle.

Erik entered her room. "What is all this racket, my dear?" he said in a calm voice.

She jumped from the dresser into his arms knocking him off balance. He stumbled but managed to regain his stance. He held her in his arms, as she buried her head in his neck. "Make it go away Erik, please!" Her muffled little voice half drowned in his flesh. Her hot breath had an unexpected reaction on his body. Heat rose and spread throughout his body dissipating the hurt and anger. Trembling in his arms, his wife was making him feel like a man.** _You are so weak Erik, one touch from her and you forget…everything._ **

How could he chastise her, when she was making him feel like this? Erik carried her to the bed and sat with her, still in his arms. She whimpered and held him tighter, making all space between them disappear. She sat on his lap as he rubbed her back, soothing her. He relished the sensation of being close to her once more.

The creature slithered from behind her chair. _How had Sebastian's companion gotten into her bedroom?_

"Calm down, it is only the rat-catcher's snake. It is harmless," he said holding her tightly against him.

"Erik, get it out."

"So there you are, Henri. I guess yoou wanted to keep my naughty wife company!"

Without looking up, she cried, "Please get rid of it." She buried her head further into his neck and grabbed on to his shoulders.

"Christine, you either let me go so I can get rid of it, or we sit here and watch it slither all over the room."

She disentangled herself from him and allowed him to place her on the bed.

He extricated the reptile from under her bed. "There you are, Henri. How did you get away from your master?" It made soft coils around his arm. "Let me take you home."

From the door, he told her. "Do not worry, Christine, he will not return. I will bring you a calming tea in a moment."

He set Henri by one of the tunnel entrances, and a rat scurried by. "Go find yourself some lunch." Henri stared back defiantly. **She is no better than this creature, slithering her way back into your heart. **_I miss her. **Weak! She will hurt you again. **It was not intentional. **You will see.**_

She was bitterly disappointed when he set a tray outside her door, but did not join her. _Oh Erik, will we ever be right again? _

------------------------------------------------------------------------j

She could hear him retching through her door. He kept crying out her name. She banged on the door. "Erik, please let me out. Let me help you. Please!" Silence, then again she heard the sobbing. His pain pierced her, gutting her. She matched every one of his sobs on her side. _Erik!_

**_She betrayed you, if you had not arrived she was going to leave with the boy. It's no wonder she loves him, he is beautiful. She must have been so disgusted when you kissed her._** _She enjoyed my kisses._ **_Really? Then why did she go kiss the boy. You saw her, pressing her body to his, delighting in his touches. She should be punished for that. She made a fool of you._** _I know what you really want. You cannot have Christine. **She must have had to look at his picture before she could get in bed with you. Someone has to be punished! She, for betraying you, or you, for allowing it. **Then let it be me. You will not hurt her._

The voice was incessant and drowned out most of his thoughts. He knew what the voice wanted, and that eventually it would wear him out in order to get it. If he could not stop it, then he would appease it and be the sacrificial lamb.

Erik knocked and entered her room. She tried to smile at him. Erik threw the strap at her feet and knelt in front of her. "Strike me!" he commanded, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"What?" she asked.

"I said, strike me," he repeated.

"I will do no such thing, Erik."

"No? You will have others die for your weakness?"

"What are you talking about? I don't want anyone to die, and I don't want to hurt you"

"If you don't want others to be hurt, you will do as I demand!" He began to unbutton his shirt and threw the leather strap back to her. "Strike me!

"Fine, we will see."

"I will not hit you, Erik. How could I?"

"You will do as I say, or death will flow from my hands."

"Erik, please, I cannot."

"Ah, wait. Yes," he wrang his hands. "I will bring you his heart! Isn't that what you always wanted?" he laughed cruelly.

"If you are referring to Raoul? I don't want him or his heart."

"Yet you hug and kiss him…strange. Never mind, I will bring you the boy's heart still beating, and you can hug that."

He got up and began to shrug the shirt on.

"Erik, their chateau is protected. They have guards. You will be hurt badly or killed."

"Don't you think I can outsmart your boy?"

"One on one, yes, but not in his own abode. Please, I don't want you to be hurt. Please!"

"Too late. You had your chance," he began to turn away from her toward the door.

"I'll do it!" she cried, holding on to his sleeve. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. "Only, swear to me you will not go there."

"I swear that if you strike me hard enough, I will not go near the boy."

"Or his house…swear to that, Erik."

"Here, do it," he said, handing her the leather strap with the metal tipped tendrils.

The thing looked barbaric in her hands. "Swear it, Erik!"

With a sigh, he whispered, "I swear it, Christine."

He stripped again, taking the shirt completely off this time. Christine noticed how his ribs showed on his back. There were multiple fresh welts there. She took the belt and tapped him on his back.

"Don't play with me child! I said strike me." He snatched the strap from her hand and brought the strap down on his back with a thud. "Like this," he roared.

"Oh, Erik." She felt she might pass out. Nevertheless, she had to hold on. Who knew what he might do, while she was unconscious.

He returned the strap to her hand. "Do it, now."

She could not bring herself to hurt him. She wanted to embrace his thin back, hold him, and love him. So, she tapped him slightly harder than before.

"You will do it like this," he said, grabbing her hand with the strap and striking himself hard across the back. The sound it made against his skin turned her stomach. Instantly, it drew tiny red marks.

"Strike me!" he commanded again.

"Erik!"

"Do it, or your lover dies," he whispered, turning his face just enough so he could meet her eyes. There was more fiery steel than gold in his hard eyes. She knew that in his state of mind he would go to Raoul's house and be killed there. There was no reasoning behind his eyes. The blind fury caused by her betrayal blazed menacingly. _What should I do? If I don't hit him, he will get himself killed at the Chagny Manor._

She hit him slightly harder

"Harder, Christine," he warned. "If you will not do it, tonight I will climb the Chagny gates and return with his heart still thumping from fright."

'Oh, Erik…you will be the death of me!" She buried her head in her hands, wishing she could get away from this nightmare.

"Though I would have preferred you living, be my dead bride if you must. Now, do it!"

She struck him then, in fear for his life and in anger because it was all so unfair, so terribly unfair. She struck his back repeatedly. She raised and lowered her arm, seeing nothing in front of her just hearing his voice. "Harder, yes, like that…yes, harder, harder."

"Yes, yes, do it Christine, beat me, my love! Save him. Strike _me_ and save your lover. Harder now!" She lost count of the number of times she struck him, but throughout he kept egging her on, pushing her to her limit. Her hair came undone; the ringlets on her forehead pasted themselves to her sweaty forehead.

She heard his ragged breathing and, coming to her senses, opened her eyes. He shook and trembled before her, finally collapsing on the floor in a heap. Erik lay on the floor in front of her, his back covered in blood. His breathing was shallow. She threw herself on him turning him over, holding him close to her. "Erik!" She was surprised that he did not fight her. She held him across her chest, so nothing touched his lacerated back.

"Erik, Erik, forgive me!" She held him in her weary arms, her tears mingling with his blood. Nearly unconscious, he moaned softly. "I'd die for you," he choked out against her chest. She pressed her lips to his,his; gently feathering kisses on his sweaty face and neck. He shuddered in her arms again and closed his eyes.

_**There you are, Erik, the proof you demanded. She did strike you to save the boy! And now she holds you, the monster, in her compassionate arms!** This was what you wanted. Why hurt her more? **She makes Erik cry.** I made her hit me to satisfy you! **Ha! And you ended up getting the most satisfaction.** She must not know what a filthy brute I am. **You should have taken her, she's your wife, she broke the pact. **I forced her to marry me!** You dirty, filthy creature, you prefer this and took your pleasure from her hand.** I…I could not help it… she must not know. **Do you think she could not tell you enjoyed writhing under the strap? **She was such a good girl to give Erik this pleasure, such a good girl. **If she knew, she would be disgusted**. But it feels so good to lie in her arms. If only I had the strength to answer her kisses. **You are satisfied with so little, it's nauseating… but, I am not. **You wanted blood; I gave you blood—mine! You cannot have her! **I am not satisfied!**_

She heard his breathing slowly return to normal as he regained his strength. He rose a little from the floor and pushed away her arms. Groaning, Erik managed to crawl out of her room. She collapsed on her bed, covered in his blood._ What have I done? _She fell into a dreamless sleep.

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"I hear he kidnapped her again," MirieleMariele said, hoping to dig up gossip from Meg.

"How can it be kidnapping if she's his wife? You talk too much, MirieleMariele."

"He took her down there, didn't he? Pitch as night is down there. Can't see even your feet."

"I wouldn't know…I really have to rush, I need to change," replied Meg.

"Aren't you even a bit curious, Meg? 'bout where they live."

"Curiosity killed the cat. I'm never that curious!"

"Funny 'bout that wedding, almost all the guests are dead now 'cept me, you, your mom, and that dark fellow. You should be curious 'bout that, it could be you next!"

"It could be me, what?"

"Could be you they find dead as scum!"

Meg felt a shudder at the way MirieleMariele looked at her. The girl's eyes frightened her more than any of the phantom stories.

She hurried to her room without another word. Eduard would be picking her up soon. _I pray you are all right, Christine._

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_**They are spreading. She brought them in. Look at them crawling out under her door. What will you do, Erik, what will you do with her? She's brought a plague into your home.** It is not her fault, it is the boy he is infected!_

He threw open the door to her room.

"Erik, you frightened me!" she said startled. Christine sat at her desk writing.

"Erik cannot be too careful in a place like this. They are everywhere." He ripped all the linen from her bed and dumped it outside the door, while brushing something off his clothes. She could not see what he was brushing off.

"What is it, Erik? Is it bugs? It's bed bugs, isn't it?" She saw him step on something on the floor several times. _They must be very small. How can he see them? How did he know?_

"What is everywhere?" she asked him. Whatever it was, she was glad for his company and the fact that he had left the door open.

"Lice!" he said finally. "We have an infestation! Everything, everything has to be cleaned. It is your fault!" he said, his eyes blazing. "Your piddling about with the boy has brought this curse into my home."

_It is no longer our home_. Swallowing hard she held back the tears.

He went into her closet, took all her dresses and outer garments out, dumping them on the floor. In one fluid motion, he tied her hands in front of her with one of her scarves then carried her out. She had never been tied before, so it had not occurred to her to protest or fight him. Her heart beat rapidly. She looked around for help as she was carried out of her room; it was futile of course, there was no one to help her five floors below the Opera House.

"I won't let them get you, Christine. I love you." He raced across the home with her, entering his room. His coffin bed gave her the usual chill, as they passed it.

"Don't be frightened my love this room is still safe. I will help you."

His voice sounded softer, reassuring. He took her into his bathroom_. Perhaps he means to hide me here while he deals with whatever is invading her room. But why tie me up? _Hope surged in her heart until she felt herself drop, and the cold water soaked through her clothes to her skin.

"Erik, no!" she screamed. She struggled to get out of the metal bathing tub.

"You must be purified, too. It is for your own good, my love!" He pushed her head under the water. She came up spluttering. He dunked her again. She was terrified and held on to the tub edge with her tied hands. He pushed her under, again. _Oh God! He means to drown me!_ He dunked her several times more. She felt herself loosing strength, her hands slipped from the edge of the tub. She felt confused and breathed in water when she should have held her breath. _Someone, help me!_

Suddenly, he took her out of the tub and sat with her on the edge of the dais by his coffin, holding her, singing to her in his most angelic voice. She coughed and shivered in his arms. "I must not let you catch a cold."

He returned her to her room and untied her hands. He gave her a towel and shoved a housedress at her. "I…I am sorry. I have no idea what came over me. Please change quickly. I am so sorry!" He walked out and locked the door. After a while, he returned to give her a hot drink and make her bed.

She sat on the freshly made bed, her arms wrapped around herself. He threw her the door key. "It's the only one. Do not let me in again, no matter what I say. I will leave your food in a tray outside your door." She took up her rosary and began to pray.

Before he closed the door behind him, he turned to her, his eyes soft and full of love. "I can no longer promise that I won't hurt you. The voice is too strong!"

"Whose voice, Erik? There is no one else here!" Terror gripped her heart.

"It is best you do not know. You do not want to hear it! Just keep your door closed."

------------------------------------------------o

"Where is Christine, Erik?" the Persian asked. Thinner than he had been in monthsand disheveled as well, Erik looked awful. Their home did not appear as if anyone had cleaned in a long time. This was not the way Christine kept house! He had dismissed it during his last visit, but the state of the subterranean home had deteriorated further.

"Why should I answer your questions in my own home?"

"Do not play games, Erik! Where is Christine?"

"She is in her room."

"I did not see her the last time I was here."

"She has been busy," Erik answered, looking at his feet.

"I want to see her, Erik!"

Erik's father had sent him a note asking him to keep an eye on the girl. If he felt uneasy then there must be something odd going on. His Daroga's nose never failed him.

"I believe she is taking a nap."

"Erik!"

"Fine, then I will tell my wife that she cannot rest because the Daroga of Persia demands her presence," he yelled, storming off toward the bedroom.

Hafiz thought it strange that Erik was wearing his mask at home. On top of the general lack of cleanliness, there was an awful odor, as if death were lurking about.

He knocked at her door. "Get dressed, Hafiz is here. You say nothing to him about our affairs," he snarled at her.

When she heard the alarm from the tunnel Hafiz used her heart leapt with joy. She only hoped that Erik would allow her out.

_This mightwould be my only opportunity. I should not appear too eager to come out._

"I don't want to see anyone,." she said as she began to get dressed for their visitor.

"Your wishes do not concern me. Come out and smile. Imagine you are getting ready for your vicomte! And hurry."

Hafiz shuddered when he saw her sallow face. She wore a red summer frock, with a red ribbon tying her hair back. Her slippers were also crimson. As was a slash of ruby that she had painted across her pale lips. He looked in her eyes. Terror! She walked slightly behind Erik and mouthed to Hafiz, "_Help me!"_

He knew the moment had come. The end to the mission he had imposed on himself so many years ago. He had to tread carefully, since the enemy was as cunning as all his other enemies had been put together. He was dealing with a coiled cobra. A monster, indeed!

It was not just his life in peril, but Christine's as well. Would he need to end the monster's existence at that moment? Could he?

She made tea and, while she poured, he saw the red marks on her wrists. _I should shoot him now and let it be over with. Hafiz patted the small gun he always carried in his secret pocket._

"See, I told you she was fine."

Hafiz noticed they did not sit together. Christine kept her head down and Erik was vociferous. He was talking non-stop about all kinds of trivial things, talking to no one in particular. He did not refer to her once. He did give her a few furtive glances. Her eyes, like his, were red rimmed. Something was horribly wrong. He had to get Christine out!

------------------------------------------------o

Once the Persian left, he rounded on her. "Why did you dress all in red as if you were a harlot?"

"You always liked red on me."

"Yes, but not when you look like a walking flame! You must have dressed for your new role as a courtesan," he spat at her. "You must not try to deceive Erik. It would not fare well for you."

"That is how you make me feel," she answered, sticking out her chin. "Did you not say _dress for your lover_?_"_

"I wish to be kind to you, but you won't let me."

"_I…I…_won't let you, Erik?"

"You insist on your unfaithful behavior."

"Let me talk to you."

"I will not listen to your treacherous tongue."

"Erik, you are acting like an animal."

"Now you realize, you foolish girl. Yes, yes, now you realize that you married a beast!"

"I hate you," she said, slamming the door in his face. She locked it carefully.

-----------------------------------------------o

For the second time that night, he came to her door and begged her to open it. In her mind, she still had a vivid picture of her ordeal in the bathing tub.

"Sweetheart," said the beautiful voice coming through her door. "What did you refer to me, as when you first met me?"

"The voice?" she answered shakily.

"Yes, that is who I am. Your Angel! Won't you open the door to your Angel? We can sing together."

"Erik? I am so confused. What do you want me to do?"

"Christine, do not open the door!" His voice sounded strangled to her.

"Open the door, and I will sing a requiem with you."

"A requiem? …for whom?" She heard his laughter as he walked away from the door, her skin crawled. _Do not open the door, no matter what I say. _That was what he had told her. She would keep the door closed until Hafiz could rescue her.

She heard the alarm again and Hafiz's voice. _He has come for me. But will Erik let me go with him?_ She could not envision the likelihood of Erik allowing her to walk away with another man.

Erik slammed a door behind him and then silence. She began to despair when Hafiz disappeared again. How was he to rescue her? It seemed like a long time before the alarm sounded again.

Christine?" It was Hafiz at her door! "Open."

She opened her door to find his dark face covered in perspiration.

"Hurry, I don't know how long he will be away."

"But how did you…"

"There is no time now. I will explain later."

"I have my things already packed," she said, turning to grab her bag.

Before she entered the tunnel, she gave her home one last, long look. Would she ever return down here to a loving home with Erik? Hafiz touched her elbow, and she followed him quickly into the darkened tunnel.

----------------------------------o

The moment he reentered the house, it felt cold, empty. His heart skipped, and began to thud uncontrollably in his chest. _Christine! _Her room was empty. He walked through the house, knowing that he would not find her, compelled to seek her out anyway. "Christine! Christine" His own voice echoed against the cold walls. _She's safe._ A smile spread on his face, as sobs racked his thin frame. Walking blindly, he slipped and crashed against a wall. He continued his quest looking in every room several times, before collapsing in the middle of the Louis-Philippe room.

_Alone again!_ He had lost her. **_She's left you._ **_Damn you, you made her leave! She may hate me, but my Christine is safe from you_. ** I_f I can't have her then Paris cannot be!_ **_So be it._ Nothing mattered now, why bother to fight. He would not be responsible. He walked into the torture chamber and released a trap door on the floor. Erik descended to the musty cellars where he kept his barrels, so very many of them.


	18. Chapter 18 The Scourge of Paris

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** **Thank you to my beta Busanda. She is doing a superb job.**

I was really amazed by the interest in this story. We had **602** readers this week. Thank you for reading. I hope you will stay on with the story. If you get a chance please leave a review.

The story had **33** reviews this week **Thank you** to my beloved reviewers: Kryss LaBryn, draegon-fire, Quiet2885, RubyMoon2, Shadow Fox Forever, Twinkle22, A Heart Full of Sorrow, Drunken Landlord, gravityisagoodthing, cheekiebabie, Momonator, Sue Raven, Ripper de la Blackstaff, mildetryth, phantomangel132, marissaisgod, TheRainCan'thurtMeNow, Sarah Crawford, Redwood, Busanda, neko-chan, Phantomtears, dunkmoonX, OperaLover, Virginie, AMT, blackaces924, RowanMayfair13, Missy, Clever Lass, Freak88, Hanna Banana, **TheRainCan'tHurtMeNow 300th Reviewer**, Mrs.Gerard Butler.

Chapter 18

**The Scourge of Paris**

_She is safe!_ His head leaned back heavily into the chair back. _Now, I can die. _**You can die if you wish, but is she truly safe Erik? Where is she? In the arms of her vicomte?** **What a man you turned out to be. You allow a whimpering boy to take your wife? You would have been better off if they had made you an eunuch in Persia. **_Christine, where has that Persian taken you? If only… if only I could see you one last time. _**Let the grasshopper loose Erik. For Paris it will be a special masquerade, everyone will wear a death mask!**

He took the vicomte's picture from his pocket and stared at it, a mix of emotions running through him, each blacker than the last. He began to crush it in his hand, then stopped, and placed it back in his pocket**. Choke him with his own image, stuff it down his throat, and watch him squirm. The Punjab lasso is much too coarse an instrument for such a handsome young man. **

-----------------------------------------------------------o

"Allah! What have I done?" the Persian gasped.

Hafiz dropped his copy of _Le Siècle_ onto his lap. With a trembling hand, he mopped his forehead using a large handkerchief.

He picked up his newspaper again and reread the headline.

**Three more indigents found dead**

An unknown individual, nicknamed the "Scourge of Paris" by the Paris gendarmerie, has been cleaning the Parisian streets of its more dubious elements. Last night, two more derelicts were found outside the La Tavern Gauche. They had been drinking cider all night long and became argumentative toward the end of the evening, the bartender commented. This makes eight unexplained deaths this week. In a statement, the chief of police, Pierre Lalmatie, said there is no known connection between the victims since the incidents happened outside taverns in different parts of the city.

"Mercy! How many more bodies to quench your thirst?"

If Erik was at this level of violence, there was nothing he, Hafiz, could do at this point. If he told the gendarmes about Erik's home, many fine men would perish. By now, all the tunnels would be booby-trapped. He did not want gendarmes trapped in collapsed tunnels, or drowned in suddenly rising waters, on his conscience. Erik's underground home must be rife with new trapdoors and deadly illusions. Even he would not walk in there with Erik himself.

There was, as there had always been only one solution to this crisis—Christine Daaé! How could he, in good conscience, hand her over to a madman?

----------------------------------------------------------o

"Are you sure it's he?" asked Louis.

"Yes, I am certain of it from the descriptions given in _Le Siècle_. Were they not strangled in a bizarre manner? In Persia, he was known as the king of strangulators; his weapon of choice has always been the Punjab lasso. He is a master in its use.

"All the victims were strangulated with a thin rope. One case was so severe that the victim was decapitated—perhaps he tried to fight back. The weapon suspected was a thin rope like a garrote, in other words, a Punjab lasso. Erik's, I might add, is made of catgut, but the gendarmes would not be able to discern that."

"These," Louis said, waving some sheets of paper in the air. "These might bring him to reason."

The Persian wondered if anything could bring Erik to reason, except a bullet straight through the heart. "What are they?"

"I acquired these letters from Philippe de Chagny, his brother left them behind. They are Christine's own letters telling the young vicomte she wants nothing to do with him!" Louis explained, looking satisfied.

"I will go meet with my son, and if I deem it safe, we may have to return her to him. Good God, over eleven dead in one week!"

"I'm sure there are other bodies not found yet," said the daroga, his dark eyes glassing over with guilt.

"Will she return with him?" asked Louis, nodding toward Christine's room.

"She walks about like a shadow. I doubted her affection for him when I first heard of the impending marriage, but I have seen them together in that underground home of his; they looked the picture of domestic bliss." A fleeting smile appeared on his lips. "I have no doubt she would gladly jump at the opportunity to return to her home with our Opera Ghost."

"I will go through on the Rue Scribe and call for him on this side of the lake, like I did last time, and plead for Christine Daaé's innocence. And then, I will let him know of her whereabouts. This gruesome business has to stop." Louis still found the stories Hafiz told him about Erik's past in Persia almost unbelievable. Yet, the evidence stared at him in black and white. Together, he and Hafiz were covering up the identity of the 'Scourge of Paris'. His newly found son was mad, and probably, no, certainly a murderer! Fatherhood had descended on him like bird crap from a tree.

"You won't know his state of mind when he first sees it's you. Keep one hand up by your eyes. Like this," Hafiz showed the older man. "It's the only defense you'll have against his flying lasso."

-----------------------------------------------------------o

Hafiz told Louis that the first place Erik would look for Christine was his home. Therefore, Louis had taken the Persian and Christine to a small home on the outskirts of Paris. The house was plain and unassuming. Louis had used it in the past to enjoy the company of reputable ladies without harming said reputations. The house was in slight disrepair but was perfect for the present situation.

She settled in as one does in a hotel knowing that the hours of one's stay are counted. He did not question her openly, but his eyes probed her every move. On the third day, she gave up her silence and began to retell the Persian her experiences with Erik after the fiasco of her meeting with Raoul.

"He laughed then, bringing that awful sound up from hell! You can do nothing when he laughs like that except make the sign of the cross. He tried to scare me, implying he had killed or hurt hundreds of people in the past. I called his bluff…hundreds," she snickered.

"Don't look at me like that, Hafiz. I am no child. I know Erik has killed…and probably more than once. It doesn't matter…or, why he did it."

The Persian walked to the window and sat on the ledge, then prompted her to continue.

"First a huge snake came into my room, and as much as I called out to him, he would not come. Finally, Erik rescued me and got rid of the beast. You should have seen its eyes—dark and graceless. He said it belonged to the Opera House ratcatcher. The next thing was when he came into my room and forced me to beat him with a leather strap. I had to, or he would have gone to the Chagny's manor and been killed. Even though he demanded I hit him ever harder, I was so upset that I hit him too hard. When he collapsed, he allowed me to hold him in my arms and give him some comfort. Hafiz, he looked so weak and hurt! The day I could not take it anymore was when he dunked me in a tub, claiming I had lice. I thought for sure he would drown me, but then he pulled me out and held me as he used to. He held me right up against his heart, and I could feel it beating strong and fast. Oh Hafiz, I want things to be as they were before."

"As soon as he hears of all this, I am sure the vicomte will take you away and…"

"What? I want things to be as they were before I went to that accursed meeting. Hasn't Raoul de Chagny caused me enough grief?"

"You mean you wish to return to Erik?"

"Have you not been listening? Did you not see the sweet life we led in our home? Wasn't it obvious that we were happy and…and in love. He is the most wonderful husband. When we first got married, I was a fool for not wanting my husband and pining for a handsome lover. But, my heart was never duplicitous. I never loved Raoul deeply. I was blinded by everything he was and stood for. I love, have always loved, only my husband. Don't you see I only want my Erik? I want him back!"

Hafiz could not believe his ears. Trying as hard as he could, he could not close his mouth.

"You do not want to be with the vicomte?" He felt he had to be completely clear on this point.

"I did before I knew Erik. I mean, before we married and I got to know him. What would I do with that boy now? Erik and I…we had a wonderful life…" Tears rolled down her cheeks then. "I am such a prideful idiot. I have spoiled it all. Did you know I went so far as to deny him his marital rights?"

"I imagined as much."

"Why? You would think his wife would not let him touch her, don't you? Because of his face?"

"This was my train of thought," he answered guiltily.

"It was because he forced me to marry him. It was my pride." She lowered her head. "But, you were right, Hafiz. I could not get over his face for a long time. But then, when I grew used to it, I tried to entice him," she said, heat rising to her face. "But, he too, is prideful and would not risk rejection. He never made a move toward me. I always initiated our kisses. It was my lips that descended on his…although; he was not reticent to continue once he was certain that it was what I wanted." She felt her face become warm.

------------------------------------------------o

The peculiar sounds drew his attention to the stables but unnerved him as well. Louis walked toward the noise in the chilly breeze of the early morning hours. As he arrived, he could see a pair of legs thrashing on the ground uncontrollably; the gurgling had stopped. The guard lay on the ground, his head in an odd position; the vacant eyes bulged. The tongue had grown too large for the mouth, and so it protruded and hung lazily between the lips. Just behind him, at one with the night, were eyes, invisible to all except to one who had eyes exactly like them. In a sudden panic, Louis grabbed at his throat. Then remembering the Persian's words, his hand went up on the side of his face between his ears and eye.

Enveloped by the night's shadows, a man's figure backed away slowly until the two glowing eyes were pinpoints. _Perhaps, I should let it go._ He had a desire to run away from there to a place of safety, inside the house. His own father's words held Louis in place. "Would a Rouxville run?' It was never meant to be a question. By the height of the shadow, he guessed it was his son coming to kill Raoul de Chagny! He would not have to go to Erik's home; they would meet here and now.

"Erik! He is not here if that's who you came for." He was grateful his voice emerged strong.

"How do you know I did not come for you?" Erik's voice floated to him.

"I'm still alive!"

Erik laughed his hellish laugh. "Touché! I brought the boy his dinner. Where is he?"

Louis could just imagine what Erik would like to feed Raoul. He was grateful both Chagny's were away. "His brother sent him to England."

After a soundless pause, Erik said, almost inaudibly, "Did she go with him?"

"If you are referring to your wife, no. The young vicomte left two days after the unfortunate incident; she was still with you at the time. You may look in the house if you wish. Philippe is away on business as well."

"Why do you stay with them?" he said, looking at the well-manicured grounds with disdain. He moved slightly closer, allowing enough light to shine on his eyes so that they glowed.

"I do not favor hotels, and Philippe was the only person in Paris to offer me his hospitality."

Erik lowered his eyes for a moment. "You would not have enjoyed a stay in my dungeon. Not after coming from such a grand home as yours."

"You have a fine home, Erik. I did visit you if only for a few moments. At any rate, before he left, Philippe handed me these. I think you will want to take a look."

Erik moved slightly more into the light, he was dressed in black as usual. A moonlit shimmer gleamed on his shoulders. "Why?"

"Because, they are letters sent by your wife to Raoul Chagny!" He extended the letters in his hand to Erik. His son did not take them at once, rather he unfurled his fingers slowly, almost fearfully, taking them finally with his trembling fingertips.

"My wife!" he spat. "You mean she hasn't divorced me yet?" Pointing to the folded papers in his hands, he said, "Have you read them?"

"Yes."

The part of Erik's face that was visible paled, but he took the letters with trembling hands and walked out into the open, toward the light.

Louis stood by him waiting, as Erik unfolded the first letter and read.

My dearest friend,

I write to you with a heavy heart. It seems that you have chosen to ignore my former notes to you. I write again to say that I am married, that I care very much for my husband, and will not ever consider leaving my home.

If you still wish to meet with me, we can meet, and it will be to your face that I will repeat that I am truly, happily married.

Raoul, you were my first friend, my only friend in a childhood marked by constant travel. I am grateful to you for again extending me your hand in friendship during those days when we played our childish games of engagement. I became confused and allowed my girlish admiration for your looks and station in life to blind me. Forgive me if I hurt you, but I should have never accepted your proposal since I was already engaged to another, as evidenced by the gold band I wore. I did not fully understand my own feelings then and feared that which I came to love.

Let us keep our memories, and perhaps one day in the company of our respective spouses we can laugh at our foolishness and hug once more in true camaraderie.

Until then, your true friend,

Christine

His mouth hung open as he stared at the piece of paper held in his trembling hands. Erik fell to his knees. He examined the letters and lifted his mask a little to put them closer to sniff. "She wrote him that she was happy…happy in our home…and that she cared for me," he said in an agitated voice.

Erik read the second letter through tears and was unable to read the other two. Louis heard him exhale noisily and catch his breath again. He watched as Erik, remaining on his knees, began to weep.

Shaking the letters in his hand, he looked up at his father unaware of the tears streaming down his face. "Damn him! She was more than clear in these letters." He reread part of a letter again, but his vision was too blurred. "You say his brother gave you these? Why would he?"

"Philippe would like his brother to let go of this fantasy, he wants him to continue with his life. He knows you are my child."

"You've told people about Erik? He…He knows I have this?" He pointed to his face in shock. Acknowledging him on paper was one thing, but to actually let others know that he had fathered a deformed being was something Erik had never expected.

"Of course Erik, I will not hide you!"

"If he knew how she felt, why did that boy continue to pursue her? Why meet her?"

"He's in love with her. Wouldn't you have wanted to see, and speak to her for yourself?"

He opened the letters again. "She had not planned to leave me for him!"

He let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, knees by his chest, his head in his hands, sobs choking him. "She did not feel she could tell me." He sobbed, "Oh God, I've destroyed my life. She never meant to leave Erik! She wanted me, do you understand that somebody wanted me, and I hurt her. It was the picture that finally did it. She had a picture of the boy in her dresser."

Louis felt his heart break for his son. He sat on the cold ground with him. "Erik, I have pictures I should have gotten rid of long ago. As we pass through life, we tend to keep memories. Perhaps to remind us that we passed through this life and made a difference to someone, or, just to comfort us in our old age. I don't know why, but we all keep pictures and mementos from our past. Did you ask her why she kept the picture?"

"I did not ask her anything; I never let her talk or explain."

"She wants to be with you, this I know!"

"How do you know?…You know where?...You have her!" His eyes blazed for a few seconds.

"I kept her safe for you. She's with the Persian." Louis answered.

"How can she want to be with Erik now? I hurt her!"

"She never said."

'The things I said! I was a monster. I was mad with anger and pain. I need her!"

"I know," Louis answered solemnly, putting his arm around his son. He felt him tense, but then Erik relaxed and accepted the touch.

"Turn away please; I need to clean my face."

"You need not hide from me, ever, but I will honor your request."

"I have made a mess of everything. How do I get her back? I have no clue how to proceed."

Louis's eyes fell on the dead man witnessing their conversation; he averted his gaze.

Erik followed Louis's eyes. "There's another one back there." Erik's arm carelessly signaled behind him toward some bushes.

"I want to see her tonight!"

"Do you want _her_ to see you in this state?"

For the first time in days, Erik looked down at himself. He shuddered to think of holding Christine in his arms. He reeked of death and pollution.

_I told you she was a good girl, I told you! **Perhaps.**_

"Father, help me get her back! I can't lose my Christine! If I do, Paris will mourn the day!"

Louis decided to ignore the cryptic message. His son was asking him for help. This was his opportunity to show Erik he had a proper father. "So, you don't know how to get her back? That, to your good fortune, is my area of expertise! I'll take you to your home, and then I'll come back and…clean up."

"He'll take care of things here."

For the first time, Louis noticed a second shadow moving in the dark. He had been right, if Erik had intended to harm him, he would have been dead and buried by now.

"Sebastian, I am returning to my home with my father. It ends here, tonight. All of it! You stay behind and clean up."

Louis thought he heard a slight groan of disappointment, but the breeze carried the sound away.

-----------------------------------------------------oo


	19. Chapter 19 Going Home

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

This week we had **587 **readers and **36** reviewers WOW! Thanks to all. Remember to leave a review if you get a chance.

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A red rose to my beta **Busanda** who rallied up to edit this chapter although she was ill. I hope her efforts are appreciated.

Chapter 19

**Going Home**

_Le Siècle_ 28, nov, 1883

**Paris Police Baffled by Crime Wave**

Four bodies in different stages of decomposition have been discovered in several areas in the city. The victims were all strangulated. _Inspecteur_ Émile Laurent,_ spokesman for La Sûreté, _sees no connection between the deaths of the derelicts and the break-in at the de Chagny manor last night where two guards died in a clash over a card game. The Chagny family was unavailable for comment, but a close friend of the family staying in the chateau said the two guards were recently overheard paying off gambling debts to an unknown third party. No new bodies have been discovered.

"No connection…humbug! As Daroga, I was never fooled that easily!"

------------------------------------------------o

He had found the property easily enough. Access was through a long, paved road. From the main road, no one would guess there was a house behind the tall trees. The house was plain, surrounded by overgrowth. Inside, the white walls were decorated with inexpensive reproductions. Even the rugs were cheap, Turkish bazaar bargains. Erik was certain Louis had used this place to bring his less-prized ladies. A few of the statues were downright offensive due to their quality. His Christine had been living in this squalor because of the boy. If he had not interfered, none of the misunderstandings would have taken place. He might be in London now, but one day he had to return. And, when he did, he would find Erik waiting for him!

Hafiz could see how nervous his guest was by his pallid jaw, hand wringing, lip chewing, and rocking. If Erik was nervous, he was nervous. He had to tread lightly.

"My wife now makes recipes just for Erik. She has studied his likes and dislikes. They are based strictly on his tastes. You would not be able to appreciate it because it was not made especially for you. There is a special meringue she makes me. She makes it with the egg whites, she named that one 'Angel's hair'. Splendid humor, don't you think, as I do not have much myself?" He laughed nervously as he passed a trembling hand over his sparse head.

"You should see how very happy we are. How she laughs and points at just anything when I take her out for a carriage ride. I am even thinking of purchasing one, so that we can always have it available. Yes, maybe I will do that. Anything to make my wife happy!" He got up and began to pace the room while Hafiz watched him. The Persian's hand balled up in his pocket. He continued, "She has taken over my chair in the library you know. It is so large; she curls up in it and falls asleep." He nodded to himself as he paced. "She lets me hold her and kiss her without the mask! What kind of a woman would do that, but an angel?" Erik stopped in front of the shorter man and faced the Persian. "I never even wished for that, it was not part of the agreement. All those kisses, my goodness that was her idea." He collapsed on the chair again and continued to wring his hands roughly.

Suddenly, making a thunderous clap, he said, "Well, enough of this chatter. Erik is ready to take his wife home now, so she can make his recipes, and he can read to her, and they can sing. You know she will be going back to the stage soon. We must practice for that as well. Yes, yes." Slowly he raised his masked face until his eyes met the Persian's.

Hafiz contemplated the emaciated man before him. His clothes hung from him as never before. His eyes were so deep in the sockets all Hafiz saw were dark endless pools. The mask he wore was not the usual black material but made of a type of ceramic. "We have to see if she wishes to go home with you, Erik." He tried to keep his voice as modulated as possible.

"Erik will go and talk to her. She is nervous of course. I think I might have raised my voice while we were in our home. But she need not be concerned, I could never harm her," he continued, his voice calm, yet a pitch higher than normal.

"I will apologize for jumping to conclusions. I know now. I saw the letters." He stood and looked toward a darkened hallway. _She is in there!_

"I know you did." The Persian's eyes followed the masked man's.

"Of course, my father would have shared that with you. I am ready to talk to her and take her home. Bring her out now." His mouth was set firmly.

"No, not yet. I will ask her if she will talk to you." 

"Damn it, she is Erik's wife!" he raised his voice just a little and looked away.

"Do you want to lose her forever?" Hafiz inquired softly.

"Erik just needs her to return with him. What are you keeping in your pocket? Why is your hand in there?" He eyed the Persian's coat pocket.

"Do I tell you where to put your hands?"

He turned his back on Hafiz contemptuously. "You don't understand, daroga. Before her, I was certain that I would die alone. As you know I had never had anyone who cared for me. There was no hope left in me that anyone would, and then…she sang for me, and changed my world. And, when she married me…I can't live without her." He held his head in his hands, spreading out his long bony fingers. "Ungodly ideas come to Erik's head. I see death…death, I tell you! The voice wants to play death games and I…I won't let it."

"What voice, Erik?" The Persian trembled, his hand moving slightly in his pocket.

"The voice that spoke to and trained my beloved wife. The voice that told Erik how to build the palace in Persia."

The Persian exhaled loudly. After a gulp of air, he said, "Allah! Have mercy on us all!"

"Do not look at me like that daroga, yes…death games, right here in Paris. I need her. I am tired of death. Their blood fills my nose—Ha, ha nose! Yes, I can smell, did you know that, Hafiz? Even if I don't have a proper nose. Did you know I have a perfect sense of smell like a dog, I think; I can always smell a rat!" His eyes moved to the Persian's hand hidden in the pockets of his trousers. "Ah, daroga, this is not the day you wish to perish."

The Persian's eyes widened, and gingerly, he removed his hand from his pocket. "I have read about your games in the newspapers, Erik." His voice was barely audible.

"Not my games, that was to assuage _him._ It was nothing." He looked around the room, as if checking to make sure they were alone, and turned back to Hafiz. He lowered his voice and said, "It is the grasshopper you should concern yourself with, daroga. The voice asked me to set it free, and now it has a will of its own. It wants to hop. The voice wants to see it hop!" He laughed and Hafiz shivered. "Only she can control the grasshopper. It will not hop if she is around. She cannot be hurt. She does not like it." He moved closer to Hafiz, bending over to whisper in his ear, "She chose the scorpion!"

"I recall, just before your wedding."

"It is the other one, he loves the grasshopper. Mind you, what a grandiose sight it would be. Never seen in Paris! The lights! A first!" He wrung his hands, then began banging one hand into the other as he paced. His arms flew to his sides as if he intended to take flight.

"Erik, if you don't calm down, I will not let you see her!" Hafiz said nervously.

"Erik is calm," he answered quietly, swallowing hard. "I want my wife!" he yelled, wringing his hands again.

"Sit down," Hafiz said in a firm, commanding voice. He wasn't sure where he got the firm voice from, but it worked. He saw Erik take a seat. Erik sat and leaned back. The Persian could see sweat glistening on his chin. Erik was squeezing and digging his fingers into his knees so hard, Hafiz thought he would damage himself. This was an explosive situation. Given the way Erik was acting, he could not let him walk out of that house. People…Hell! The whole of Paris was at risk! If Christine refused to go with him, he would have to try to kill him right there in Louis's house and damn the consequences. On the chance that he missed, he would perish here this day, and Erik would walk over his lifeless body triumphantly, take his wife away, and probably blow up Paris on the way out. It was best to have a care; Christine would be safer if he remained living. 

Hafiz felt a dark cloud descend upon him. There was no winning in this trap. If she agreed to return with Erik, he would hate himself for having delivered her into the hands of a madman. For reasons he did not want to admit to himself, he did not want her to go. She had filled a void in his life that, for years, he had not wanted to admit was there. While daroga in Persia, he had almost married once, just as Erik arrived in his life. He had neglected his future bride for no more than three weeks, fascinated as everyone was by the new court magician. She was a Lurs. Jamileh had been promised to him since she was born. He should have sent an escort to protect her caravan. _Damned thieves!_ His bride, like most of her party, arrived dead in Khorramabad. Erik happily provided what he needed when they finally identified the thieves. They were the first to taste the torture chamber. He had stood at the little window, watching as Erik adjusted a knob here and there. It was not refined yet, and the whole ordeal had been loud and messy. Revenge had been slow and sweet.

He could understand Erik's desperation because he now felt, with choking realization, that when Christine left he would be all alone as well. She was Erik's wife. Hafiz did not love her or particularly desire her as a woman, but he would have kept her by his side if he could. Even this ridiculous hideaway felt warm because of her presence.

Erik was grinding his teeth now. The most ungodly sound coming from his mouth as his teeth gnashed against each other. The Persian walked away. "Wait here!" he told the assassin.

Almost inaudibly, Erik whispered to himself, "Stop it!" _I will not let you. Stop it. No hopping. There will be no hopping. No, no, hopping at all. She will put a stop to your silly games!_

--------------------------------------------------------o 

She looked so small as she sat on the bed. A handkerchief twisted in her hands. How could he place her in a confessed killer's hands? The Persian approached her and sighed.

"I cannot force you to go with him, but, if you do not, a hundred more will perish."

Christine looked up surprised. "I will gladly go with him. But no, Hafiz, Erik is not that man who is out there terrifying the city. I peeked out before. He is like a frightened little boy. Can't you see how nervous he is? How anxious he is for me to return by his side? Do you really think him capable of killing dozens of people?" She shook her head in disbelief.

Hafiz marveled at her innocence. Was Christine being honest? Could she be this blind to his sins? Was she that much in love that she saw nothing but good in him? Perhaps that was her power over him. Was it possible that only she could elicit good from him?

She continued, "He needs me, and this is my opportunity to make it up to him.

"I think his anger is past. He may be ready to be my husband again. This time I will be careful to keep my treasures well cared for!" She straightened her shoulders. "I am ready to go home," she said, pointing to her valise. Hafiz had not noticed that she was already packed.

He walked her out and placed her bag next to her. Erik slowly picked up his head. Hafiz saw a flicker of light in the dark pits behind the mask.

"I will leave you alone," Hafiz said, walking away from the couple.

Erik sprang to his feet when she appeared. His eyes opened wide as if taking her all in at once. He had no words to say. _He looks as if he's about to cry!_ She saw him try to swallow and fail. He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. When his lip trembled, it was all she could do not to run into his arms, kiss him, and end this painful moment for him.

"I am ready to go with you, Erik, but only under one condition." She kept her voice calm.

"Call me if you need me," Hafiz interrupted as he walked away.

"Wait Hafiz!" she said, stopping the Persian in his tracks.

"I will accede to whatever you want," Erik said quickly, making no pretense at pride.

"Promise you will never lock me up again…ever. Hafiz is witness to your words," she said.

"It was for your own safety!"

"Promise, Erik!"

"I promise, Christine. Just come home now!" he pleaded.

Her eyes moved toward her bag, and Erik rushed to get it. He opened the door for her. Christine turned and gave Hafiz a peck on the cheek. "We will wait for you next Thursday, Hafiz. I will make your favorite dish."

Erik narrowed his eyes but said nothing, his lips compressed into a tight line.

"Dolme Baadenjaan?" Hafiz asked, and he saw her nod her assent. He tried to smile but found he could not. "I will bring the eggplants. I look forward to it. Thank you."

"No, Daroga. I will provide my wife with whatever she needs. If she wishes to cook that dish, which is not _my _favorite, then I will procure what she needs for it." Erik said in an overly controlled voice.

Once they were seated in the brougham, a low growl escaped his lips. Between teeth he managed to say, "Don't think I did not smell it. You were cooking for him. You must never cook for another man that is not Erik. It is better for everyone's health if you remember that."

She smiled at his jealousy. "Erik, I will cook for you everyday, and next Thursday, he will be our guest."

"I will not share you, Christine. You are only for Erik."

"How else could it be, Erik? Am I not your wife?" She faced him and looking into his eyes, she said, "That is the way I want it, too."

He looked away and sat back, slightly calmed by her words. Throughout the ride, he kept peeking at her from the corner of his eye.

"I feel in debt to Hafiz for taking care of me. He was very polite and kind."

"You owe no debt to that abductor!"

"Look, Erik, the Opera House," she said, pointing at the grand building. "How I have missed it! "

"Is that all you have missed, Christine?"

She did not say a word, but placed her hand over his gloved one and lightly squeezed it.

He closed his eyes at her touch. _She's mine!_

------------------------------------------------o

As the strange couple walked away, the former daroga of Persia felt defeated. He had handed her over to the Scourge of Paris. _She would not have listened anyway!_ He felt good only about having put a stop to the carnage. Hafiz watched them depart from the building and walk toward the carriage. Erik was easily a head taller. Holding her bag, he helped her climb into the carriage, put her bag in, and likewise ascended the carriage himself disappearing into the darkness.

He cursed himself for not trying to kill Erik right then and there. His hands trembled. He went into his bedroom, and for a while the Persian wrapped himself in peaceful smoke. His thoughts fleeting from one thing to the other as anyone looking on a bazaar from their terrace would let their senses be distracted by the multitude. "Did she really believe him so innocent? What a crafty child…that one." He chuckled a bit and leaned back on his pillows. Finally, his errant mind settled on a yellowed, silver-framed photograph on his dresser…Jamileh!

------------------------------------------------o

The boat's undulating movements lulled her, and her eyes fluttered shut as soon as it began to move on the short ride to their home.

They arrived on the far shore, and she awoke as he jumped out. "Wait, let me help you." He picked her up out of the boat and gently set her down. _Well, I'm home._ She walked through the door he held open. When she entered the house, she made no comment as to the state of their home. Tables and other pieces of furniture were broken or torn, small fragments of glassware were visible in the corners. _He tried to fix it for me. _

"I'm sorry," he said, looking around and waving his arm. He and Louis had tried to straighten up, but now he was clearly seeing what he had done to their home. "I was not feeling very domestic." He tried to curl his lip, unsuccessfully.

"I am feeling so tired, Erik. Would you make us some tea and bring it to bed?"

"Of course." It did not escape him that she had said "us." He took her bags into the bedroom and went to the kitchen to make them tea.

Christine prepared herself for bed. She chose one of her prettiest cotton nightgowns and went into the bathroom. When she came out, he was standing with the tray in his hands, waiting for her. She sat upon the bed and patted the opposite side, signaling him to join her. She smiled as he took the hint and sat on the bed with her. They drank their tea in silence.

It was quiet under the Opera House, except for a soft, faraway, whirling sound. Exhausted, she fell asleep, unable to convince him to remove the mask. Content with his new fortune, he lay stiffly in a corner of the bed making sure no part of him touched her. Sleep eluded him as he watched her slumber.

--,-'---------


	20. Chapter 20 Ange Adorable

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I layy no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

Thank you to my beta Busanda. As you can see, she continues to do a fabulous job.

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**Chapter 20**

**Ange Adorable**

He made her a simple breakfast of bread and butter with gooseberry jam but did not eat himself, or even sit down with her. The ceramic mask was on his face. After the meal, he led her to the divan in their sitting room and kneeled in front of her.

"I read your letters to the boy. I want to hear it from you. Just tell me why you met with him behind my back?"

She began to wring her hands, and he covered them with a large hand.

"I…I was…I thought you…Well…you get so angry…I thought…you would…try to kill him." She kept her head down.

"Look at me, Christine. Am I so irrational that you could not tell me he was sending you letters?" He saw her shrug her shoulders. "No, do not answer that. I am of course." He sighed loudly. "My damned temper!" He rose up and stood by the fireplace. She followed him as if pulled by his presence. He turned to find her standing in front of him, his lip curled, and silently he handed her a black-ribboned rose that lay on the mantle piece.

She brought it up to her nose and inhaled. He loved the way her nostrils flared and her eyes fluttered. His eyes skimmed over her rising chest. He would give her a rose everyday from now on.

"I thought I could solve everything by myself," she said, putting her hands behind her back and looking up at him expectantly. She reminded him of a depiction of a schoolchild owning up to a great sin and waiting to be reprimanded.

"You have no need to solve anything by yourself. You should have been able to come to me. I have failed you."

"No, Erik…I…" She moved forward a few steps.

He put his hand up. "Had you been able to approach me with your problem, none of this would have happened." He looked around their shattered home. "I…I listened to…to the wrong advice. It will not happen again.

"I am not blaming you, but…why keep his picture?" he asked, as if lifting a weight off his shoulders.

"Aside from Mamma Valérius, he is my only other connection to my past. He knew me as a child, we played together. He has memories of my father no one else has."

At that moment, he hated the Vicomte de Chagny beyond even his own imagination. He held an unbreakable connection with his Christine that had been forged years before she came to the Opera House. He could see them, sharing private jokes, and giggling over something funny her father had said. Jokes he would be exempt from simply by virtue of meeting her last. He could not ask her to break that connection, yet it had to be neutralized. This situation needed careful consideration.

"My actions were wrong. I hurt you," she murmured, lowering her head.

"Yes," he answered after a while, as if he had to recall an event from the distant past.

"The pain was overwhelming…thinking of you wanting him. You, in his arms!" She saw him shudder as he said those words.

"Oh, Christine, the price was high for a goodly number indeed, and almost for many more. It is better for the human race that from now on you take care of your business in another manner, Christine. You are my wife, and only mine. I cannot share."

"I am not sure I understand you." She looked down at her hands and waited her him to continue.

He sat again and meticulously lit his pipe. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself that pleasure. She sat opposite him at arms length on an ottoman, picking at her nails. Tomorrow, he decided, they would add etiquette to her studies.

In an attempt to get her attention away from her hands, he began again, "He was the one to give me the letters."

"Who is _he_?"

"Forgive me; I am referring to my father. He asked me not to kill the boy." Smoke billowed around his head. Feeling relaxed, he slumped against the back cushions. The sweet taste of tobacco lingered in his mouth.

She looked up a little distracted. "He knows Raoul?" As soon as the name was out of her mouth, she regretted it. The pain it caused him was evident in both the hardness in his eyes and his instantly-clenched jaw.

"I am glad he was there to keep you safe. I would never want to see you hurt, Erik." She placed one of her small hands over his.

He took her hand and brought it up, pressing it against his cheek. His sigh softly caressed the back of her hand. Still holding her hands, he looked straight into her eyes.

"The things I said…were unacceptable. I would kill anyone who spoke to you like that. I must ask your forgiveness, but I do not expect you will give it readily."

A small package emerged from his coat pocket. He handed it to her.

"What…?"

"It's yours," he said, getting up and walking away. His voice terse, he added, "And stop picking at your nails!"

She opened the package to find her letters, Raoul's letters, and the crumpled picture inside. As she rifled through them, she heard the door to his room click closed.

------------------------------------------------o

Erik stood on the stone steps of the old collapsed tunnel. It had been cleared and was usable again. He tapped his toe impatiently.

"We are not doing the bank or anywhere else," He snapped.

"I…I thought I could get a bit 'o that take."

"Lower your voice, this is not for my wife's ears. There was no 'take'…you can have some of that."

"Then can I finish the job upstairs, it's only that one girl left? You keep postponing it sir."

"I do not like the killing of women or children, and I'm not in the mood for more deaths right now. It's only the one girl, how much harm can she do?" Erik said dismissively.

"I need not say it. You know how much harm she can do."

"For God's sake, don't look at me like that. Go, go, and kill some rats. Perhaps, in a week or two you can do what you need to do upstairs, yes, that would be fine then, but I want no blood on my hands today."

"Your hands?"

"Yes, my hands. My own hands are as guilty as yours are, if I have sent you. Make no mistake; a judge would have me hang by your side. Right now, I need my mind to be clear…for her."

"What do you want done with the gunpowder barrels under the bank and the other buildings?"

"Leave them. It is too risky to remove them; without my handiwork added, they are practically harmless. Paris stands for now."

"Oh, one more thing sir,…would you have a look at this for me? It arrived this morning." Despite his gloves, he was careful not to touch Sebastian's hand as he took the letter. Erik opened the envelope and began to read:

Dear Seb,

We are settled in Armentiéres just east of Calais.

My brother, I need to take my little Jean to the doctor soon. He has been suffering from fevers. I hate to keep on asking you, but my pension does not stretch that far. I need 10 Fr. To cover the doctor's visits and medicine. I fear to be begging alms in the streets before this is over. Please send me what you aide real soon and visit when you can. I want you to see my boys before they get too big.

Félicie

"I was thinking before only to fill my pockets and it's my sister needing that money. I gots to send her for her needs. We got to do the bank, sir."

"Life has never been easy on impoverished widows. However, I will not blow up a bank in order to get a few francs for your or anyone's sister. Do you realize? No, of course, you do not."

"But she needs to take the boy to the doctors and for medicine. She counts on me to do for her and I got no more 'an a couple dozen rat-tails on me," the ratcatcher wailed.

"Here." Erik shook his head, and took money out of his purse. "I'll give you an advance on the job upstairs." He made sure to pass the money to the ratcatcher without making any contact.

"I'm in your debt…I…well, that's more than I need to send her." He counted the money and stuffed it in his pocket "Ummm. I…don't think me unthankful, for this I mean," he said, lifting up the money Erik had handed him. "But, I'll also be needing for you to write me an answer for her."

"Very well, Sebastian I will do that for you. Sometime tomorrow you may pass by for your return letter." Erik said, folding the letter and putting it away in his coat pocket. "Oh, and Sebastian?" he called coyly to the man. "I may have another small job for you very soon."

The ratcatcher nodded and moved a few steps away; reentering the tunnel, he blended into the shadows.

--------------------------------------------------o

The next two mornings, he was gone from their home before breakfast. Christine cooked simple meals and threw out his portion with heaviness in her heart.

He always returned for lunch and went straight to the kitchen, preparing lunch and her dinner. He remained in his room all afternoon. Music strains drifted out from his room. In the afternoon, she baked him tiny cakes, his favorite molasses cookies, and mint tea, making sure the smells permeated their home. Emerging from his room, he insisted that he had a headache and took a cup of tea to his room. She counted the cookies and put them in the tin. In the evening, when she recounted them, they were all there.

She felt defeated, all their traditions were gone, and they were no closer now than they had been the day of their wedding. _Mea culpa. _The only time they spent together was during her lessons, which she made sure lasted as long as possible. He was adamant about adhering to her schedule. They spent time in the library discussing her assigned readings.

The second week began much like the first; she took to roaming the house, which was full of music but devoid of joy. She missed her conversations with Meg and even Hafiz's stories about his life in Persia. Mostly, she missed the way they had been before she ascended to the Opera House and met with Raoul. She wanted what they had been building back. _I will not let this happen to us! I love him._

---------------------------------------------o

He had not taken off the mask for days and now felt ashamed to do so in front of her. So, he continued to sleep with it on, taking it off only during the hours he spent in his room alone. Although he had acquired a new leather mask, he had developed sores on his face from the heavier mask, making his countenance look worse. Now, sleeping with the mask on was making the pain unbearable, hellish in fact.

As usual, she sat on the ottoman next to his large chair in the library. Several open books lay strewed on the floor. "You are not concentrating, Christine. Look at the drawings. Do you see why these organs should not be squashed together? They cannot function properly if they do not have the appropriate space."

"I understand that, Erik, but skirts with crinoline look so much prettier. I like the bigger dresses, Erik, the more crinoline the better, and that necessitates a tight corset. Otherwise, I should look like a pumpkin," she giggled.

Losing his patience with her, he began to raise his voice. "It is unhealthy to have your organs squeezed! I will not allow it."

"Would you rather I walk about in pantaloons like those women we were reading about?_ Égalité_ for all is one thing, but my dear husband, I will not look like a man!"

"Why do you insist on exaggerating and mixing everything up?" he stormed at her. "And you will not dissuade me from my dictum. From now on, you will not wear those tight corsets. I forbid you!"

She gathered her skirt, rose up, and walked away without a word.

"Don't you dare walk away when I am talking to you! I am your husband!" he bellowed after her. He got up and followed her.

Erik ended his chase, stopping suddenly in an inelegant manner. He almost bumped into her as she turned and made a deep curtsy. "Yes, my lord and master, or shall I simply say husband…so much for_ égalité_! Yes, Erik?"

She saw his jaw line turn red.

"And, so much for today's studies!" _I will not be mocked by a silly girl_. He pushed past her roughly and walked toward his room.

"Erik?"

He stopped in his tracks, his stiff back to her. "Yes?"

"May I have my music lesson?"

-------------------------------------------------o

She wasn't sure if he would answer. Then, he turned and said, "I suppose. If it is your wish. But, I warn you there will be no more talk of…that topic." He walked over to the piano and sat at his bench, his back straight. He began to play scales.

"What would you like to sing today?" She knew better than to answer since he would suggest what he wanted to work on in a moment. "Should we start with Juliette's 'Je veux vivre?'"

"That will be fine, Erik." I am truly getting to know you well, my husband!

"Good, then let's start with warm-ups."

She stood next to the piano, facing him. She could see the rich color of his sparse hair. It was all she could do not to run her fingers over it.

"Christine?" His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment as he waited for her to assume the correct posture.

After ending the aria, he rifled through his sheet music again. "I thought I had it here. They should have been together," he murmured to himself. She sat down as he got up and rushed to his room.

Of all the things they did together this was what she loved the most. She did not like to learn about etiquette and could see no purpose to it living under the Opera House. Christine much preferred their heated discussions on the rights of man. She also loved it when he shared his books on paintings. _What was the name of that painter he had met years ago, Bastien-Lepage? Erik said the man was impudent, but that his paintings would be remembered long after the current drip and dot artists were done._

"Here it is, my dear, you always enjoy singing this, 'Ange adorable!'" He stretched his long fingers over the piano keys and relaxed his shoulders.

She could see the inflammation around his eyes through the mask's eyeholes. When he readjusted the mask for the third time, he hissed. He had to be in pain. She had to get that mask off his face.

"Erik, do you like to make me sad?" she asked with a small pout to her lips.

"What? No, you know I do not, Christine."

"You are making me sad now."

"How am I doing this? I thought you wanted to sing?"

"You are in pain, and you will not let me help you."

He shook his head, "It is nothing. I do not wish to expose you to…"

"I am useless in this house then," she kept her voice small and sad. She began to turn away, but he held on to her hand.

"Will it make you feel better if…if I let you help me?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes, I am your wife. It's my job to help you," she said.

He sighed. "Very well, but be aware that it is far uglier than before. Unbelievably uglier…you will see."

She lifted his mask. The first thing to hit her was the smell. Sweat mixed with dying flesh. Long ago, during her travels with her father, they saw two dogs fighting over an old piece of meat. The stench had burst out as they ripped it apart. This was the same sweet, sickly odor of death and decay.

An angry rash covered his face. Red welts traced the perimeter around the mask, and deep sores had developed on his cheekbones and brow. Older blisters had begun to ulcerate. Had this not been Erik's face, she would have thrown up on the spot. Christine felt her stomach tighten and her mouth water. _Oh no, he would never get over it if I was ill from seeing his face._ She swallowed down the rising bile and went to get a bowl and rags. She put cold water on her face and leaned back against the kitchen wall. _Christine, go do your job! _Her legs would not follow her command. _Some actress you are. All this is your fault, so go and fix it_. She walked back to Erik and began to swab his face with the rag. By the time she was finished applying the salve, she was able to look into his eyes and smile. "Don't put the mask on for a while, Erik."

"Thank you, Christine," he said with gratitude, but not looking directly at her. His shame was palpable. She gave in to her earlier desire and stroked his head, leaving a kiss atop his thinning scalp. He looked up briefly with shinny eyes.

"That is what I am here for, to take care of my husband." She wished she could kiss his mouth, but recalling his face of a few minutes before, she felt unable to do so. She was grateful he could not see her internal battle. She smiled and left him to throw out the water in the bowl. Her legs still felt weak.

When she returned he rose to his full height, and extended his hand toward her. "Perhaps we can go back to our song now, my love?"

-----------------------------------------o

By the end of that week, she knew their marriage was in trouble—the tin remained untouched. Hafiz had visited as promised, and they had shared a meal. He had managed to corral her away from Erik and asked her if she felt safe. _Yes,_ she had answered, _but I am not sure my marriage is safe._ A strange look crossed the dark face, but he had promised to continue to visit.

She could hear music coming from Erik's room—disjointed, repetitive notes. He was again working on his _Don Juan Triumphant_. In the afternoon, Christine marched up to his door and knocked. She continued to knock until he flung the door open and glared at her. His chin had ink on it, and the hand wrapped around the door had several stains. It was obvious he had been composing.

"I will be ready in half an hour," she said calmly. He stared at her puzzled. "Will you please take me back to Hafiz. He should be in his own apartment now. I have the address here." She showed him a piece of paper with writing and squirreled it away as if he might snatch it from her.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she continued, "It is obvious to me that I am not wanted here…so, I…"

"Not wanted?" he cried in disbelief. "How could anyone not want you?"

"You avoid me at all cost, therefore, I have to assume that you are no longer interested in being my husband!" she stated.

"I was trying to save you from my presence. It cannot be fun to love a beautiful boy like the vicomte and be married to a monster like me."

"Oh, Erik, how can you know so much about the world and yet know your wife so little? I do not love Raoul; I probably never did."

"I wish I could be magnanimous and give you up entirely, but I can't. I can never give you up, Christine. I am getting old; perhaps soon, you will have the blessing of my death!"

"Why do you say that, Erik? Are you ill? That would be the worst day of my life!" she cried, her hand pressing against her chest. "I love you." With a great sob, she ran and locked herself in her room. He leaned against the door, dumbfounded. _Did she say…? What did she…?Did I hear? You idiot, Erik! How could she?_ He sat in the kitchen for what seemed an eternity. He could have gone after her, but then she might repeat what she had said, and it might not be what he thought he heard. He saw her come out of her room dragging her trunk. "I'm leaving," she said with finality. She put her back into it and pulled it a little further.

He smiled at her bravado, finding the situation amusing despite the tragic scenario. "You will not leave," he said calmly.

"If you will not take me, I will go on my own."

"You will not leave, Christine. Do you really think I would allow you to leave me after the hell I've just been through?"

"Then, when Hafiz comes to check on me again, he will take me away. I will be sitting right there!" With difficulty, she dragged her large trunk into the living area and sat on the divan. He followed her out and sat next to her, not sure what to say to her.

"I tell you my dearest secret, and you laugh at me." She was sobbing. Erik turned to face her. His finger removed a tear and placed it on his lips.

"What was it you said before? You were mumbling as I have asked you not to do, and…and I did not hear it."

"You chose not to hear it."

"My dear, either way, it does not matter," he said, beginning to lose his temper and raising his voice. "The point is, I do not know what you said."

"I said many things," she replied.

"Damn it, Christine!" he yelled. "The words, the words you said. Do not mock me and just repeat them!" he insisted menacingly, inches from her face. She would not scurry away, not this time. She would repeat herself, or, or…he would perish. His hands curled into tight fists.

Christine took his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his. He trembled but did not pull away. He returned her actions so that when her tongue caressed his lips, he opened his mouth a little and greeted the tip of her tongue. His heart was racing and drowning out all sound, except the hush of their breathing. It was not a deep or long kiss, but it held her answer. She pulled away, and he saw her staring intently into his masked face, meeting his eyes and standing her ground. He looked down at her small frame, so crushable, so in need of his protection.

"That is my answer, Erik!"

He wanted more of what she had just given him. He wanted all the feelings her kisses brought to him, but as for her answer, he did not have a clue and did not know what to say. Why could she not just say it and repeat the word that would either give life or kill? Was this a loving kiss or a good-bye kiss? They had to talk. They would talk, or whatever else she wanted to do. Somehow, he would decipher her answer or wrench it from her. _What if she did say that? Or if she…?_ He was unable to complete the thought. His limbs grew cold as his heart wrestled with the possibility that he had attained what he had most wanted all of his life—to be loved by another.

"Make us tea, Christine!" he commanded, as he dragged her trunk back into the bedroom. He saw her start for the kitchen with a smirk on her face.

She seemed to have had so much trouble as she dragged the trunk, yet it felt so light to him. Once inside the bedroom door his curiosity got to him, and he opened the trunk lid to discover the mystery of the light, huge trunk. It was empty!

"My delicious little minx!" he said delightedly, licking his lips.

------------------------------------------------oo

Note: The title for this chapter is from the madrigal in the Opera Roméo and Juliette by Charles Gounod. First performed in Paris in 1867 at theThéâtre Lyrique. "Je veux vivre" is also from this opera.


	21. Chapter 21 Confessions

**Black Despair**

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta** Busanda **for a great job. She is also re-editing the beginning chapters. THANK YOU!

Thank you to all my readers. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I remind you that this is a dark story and it is Leroux Erik. If you get a chance, leave me a review. Let me know what you think of the story so far.

A big thank you to my reviewers: gravityisagoodthing, Grantaire, Quiet2885, LaRosaNegra000, Sarah Crawford, Timeflies, Kryss LaBryn, Mominator, Twinkle22, draego-fire, Dudett angel, katiebabs, PhantomObsessed, LegalPrimaDonna, phantomangel132, thePhantom'sEvenstar, scorpionorchid, Dani Blues, dunkmoonX, **Shadow Fox Forever (400th review)**, Ripper de la Blackstaff, angelofmusicx0, mildetryth, ForeverPhantoms, Mini Nicka, Sue Raven, Hanna Kaufman, Turn-of-the-scorpion, LoveMe1010, Virginie. Please if I miss answering a review please forgive me I get into the writing and oh well. I truly thank you all for taking the time to leave me a review.

I am writing chapter 7 for **Secrets Left Untold**, under ToryD . It's a multi-author, modern fanfic. I hope you can check it out.

Chapter 21

**Confessions**

They drank their tea, and Erik even picked up a cookie from the plate. He took a bite but was barely able to swallow from nervousness. It was tasteless. 

"Now, my dear, if you would be so kind as to repeat for me that secret of yours."

"What secret is that?"

"Christine, stop this at once! Do you not see what you are doing to me? I plead with you, repeat your words to me," he said, his tense fingers tapping on the chair arm rest.

"I am embarrassed now," she said, hanging her head. "Come here, my love." He scooped her up and transferred her to his lap; her head rested comfortably against his chest. She bit the corner of a nail. Erik took her hand from her mouth, kissed the finger, and held it in his hand. "Now, my dear girl, will you save me from this misery?" 

She rested on his chest for a few moments. Then, grabbing his lapels, she began to speak in a timorous voice, "I want you to know that…that I love you." With those words, she buried her head into his chest again, feeling the heat rise on her face.

Erik sat transfixed. There was no denying the words this time. She had said them. Christine said she loved him! He let the words wash over him, hearing them again in his mind in the same manner that he used to recall a melody. _I want you to know that…that I love you._

He felt dizzy and held on to her. His body felt as tight as a drum. He was choking. Realizing he had stopped breathing, he gulped in air. From far away, he could hear her voice, and perhaps, it was her touch he felt. He felt cold, and air was scarce. _What do I do with this now?__What do normal people do when someone loves them?_ He knew she was in his arms, but he could neither feel her nor see her. _After all these years, after all these years! See, Christine, your love is killing me. _

_---His mother hadn't meant to hurt him, she hadn't even meant for him to hear, but she had said it all the same. He stood by the stairs in their old cottage, pricking his ears as always. The staircase had wonderful acoustics and carried the downstairs sounds up to him clearly. _

"_Why are you always so mean to him, Cecile, he is your son."_

"_I don't want to spoil him…lead him to think he'll have a normal life. No one will ever love that face. So, he might as well grow up tough."_

"_What can it hurt you to give your son a hug? He is a little boy!"_

"_Hug that? Good of you to speak, but have you seen under the mask? It's a demon's face. How can I hug that? You won't understand unless you've seen it. I cannot bring myself to feel as I should for him. I know I'm doing wrong, but look, I did not kill him at birth though perhaps I should have. I feed him and keep him clean. He is a good boy, obedient and smart as a whip. Don't have to hit him really. But, God help me, I cannot love something so repulsive. No one can."---_

-------------------------------------------o

Christine had expected him to jump up and dance her around the room. His reaction perplexed her. He sat quietly; his face had not even changed expression. He looked out into the room calmly. She was disappointed. If she had told him that she was changing the flavor of his tea, he would have reacted more. A deep hurt grew and settled in her heart. Perhaps, he no longer loved her. Obviously, her confession was nothing to him. However, it was possible that he had not heard her. He did not hear it before, possibly, he was going deaf. Hope began to stir in her heart again.

"Erik, did you hear what I said to you?"

He still did not move, but she noticed his chin looked pale. "Erik?" His eyes did not look right, they were glassed. She removed his mask, and when he did not move to stop her, she began to panic. The rest of his ulcerated face was just as pale. It looked ghastly. "Erik, please speak to me." Lightly, she shook his shoulders. She heard a swoosh of breath, followed by the sounds of him desperately gulping in air, swelling out his thin chest. His hands were colder than usual. She took a little of the warm tea, and, with a napkin, she placed the warm liquid on his pale lips. He began to stir a little, and she gave him a sip of the mint tea. Finally, he swallowed and closed his eyes.

"Are you feeling better?"

She saw him nod slightly. His cold forehead leaned against hers. His eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, Christine," she heard in a low rasp.

--------------------------------------------o

This was the most momentous moment of his life. He was loved! Erik embraced the woman who loved him tightly in his arms and lowered his head to hers. Surely, there was something monumental he was supposed to do. _Christine, Christine._ He couldn't think of anything. His heart was still hammering, but he was able to think. To think of what? He put his hand up to adjust the mask and touched his bare face.

He sat bolt upright, his eyes incandescent. "My mask! Where…?"

"Here, Erik," she said, helping him to put it on. "You did not look well, and I took it off." She felt awful about not insisting on his keeping it off. She saw him adjust the strap and shroud his face in black.

"Say it again, Christine."

"You did not look…"

"I do not find you amusing."

"I love you, Erik," she giggled and kissed his jaw.

His heartbeat raced again_. Do you really mean it that you can say it so casually, Christine? To say those words to me…a monster._

He got up suddenly, almost knocking her off his lap. "I hear it."

"Erik?"

In two long strides, he was almost out of the room. Turning from the doorway, he said,

"Oh yes, and I love you with all my heart, my little angel!" He rushed from the room.

Moments later, she heard him on his piano. The lightest, sweetest notes flew to her.

------------------------------------------o

He sat in the library reading his paper. Christine was on the floor completing an assignment, books scattered around her. She saw him pull out his pen to do the math puzzle in _Le Siècle_. He adjusted his mask again, his eyes squinted slightly as he did so. Guilt washed over her. The mask still hurt him. She had not said a word to him about keeping his mask off for breakfast. Instead, she cut up everything on his plate very small so he could eat with the mask on. Just from the memory of putting the salve on his sores that morning, she was totally put off her breakfast. She could not take seeing his lacerated face in front of her as she ate. Being ashamed of her feelings, she did not meet his eyes during the meal. She washed up as he had a last cup of tea, and together they went to the library to begin her studies. 

Since her confession, they began to spend most of their time together. The one time during the day when he demanded complete privacy was for his composing. The notes emanating from his piano were airy and gentle. To her chagrin, his composing could take hours. She had no such requirement and tried to spend all of her time with him.

She tapped his knee and pointed to a math problem. With a smile, he dropped his newspaper and calmly explained the problem to her. He waited until she had a solution and went on with his puzzle.

----------------------------------------o

After her evening ministrations, he always left the mask off. Once in bed, she would turn away as he enveloped her in his arms.

Every night, he inquired, "Do you think it any better tonight? I was a fool to let this happen." He ended by chastising himself.

"It is improving, Erik." _It would improve faster if I made him keep his mask off all the time. _It made her feel better that his face truly was improving; the rash was gone as were most of the smaller sores. Only the deeper ones remained, needing more time to heal.

"You are a kind soul to allow me to hold you when I look like this."

"Erik, I love to sleep in your arms."

The way his face looked before was bad, but she had handled it. Her reaction to this new condition was beyond her control. Shamefully, she admitted to herself that his face repulsed her. Christine had gotten used to the deformity, but this was different, it was truly repulsive and, thank God, temporary. Soon, she would be able to look at his deformed face again. Despite this logic, she felt guilty. Althoughshe loved him, truly loved him, it disgusted her to think that his face might brush against her. It was different when she put the salve on. As disgusted as she felt, it was only her fingertip touching it; at the end, she could wash and wash until she washed away the feeling of having touched those sores.

------------------------------------------o

Why was it always about his face? He could tell from the way she began to stiffen as he undid the strap behind his head. She held her breath and tightened her stomach. She's disgusted! _She has a right to be, it is not a natural face and now with these things on it…_ He was perfectly capable of taking care of his face. It was not the first time he had developed ulcers. In the past, it had happened when he had been forced to have it on for too many hours. However, she insisted on being the one to wash his face and put the salve on. He suffered this humiliation twice every day_. She has to love me if she is willing to do this for me._

The mask pained him as it pressed on the delicate areas of his face, but he would not take it off in front of her unless it was during her care routine. _She must truly feel nauseated because she lets me leave it on for breakfast. I do not want to see her lose her meal because of my appearance. No, no, that would not do at all. She needs her nourishment, and it will not stay down if she gets a glimpse of this. _ His face would begin to smart after a few minutes, but it took a couple of hours before it began to throb in earnest. When he could not take the pain anymore, he went into his room and locked the door so that he would be free to remove the mask. He sat at his piano barefaced and relaxed himself by composing a song for his angel, who loved him.

At bedtime, after her ministrations, she always faced away from him. She would then grab his arm and wrap it around herself. This kindness on her part gave him comfort. No one else would have gotten this close to him. Though she would never ask him not to, he made sure never to touch any part of her with his face. He stayed awake until her breath was even, and then he would move away to sleep on his own side of the bed. _She loves me._ _I cannot expect more. _

A few nights later, she suddenly bolted to the bathroom after she took off his mask for his evening cure. He could hear her empting her stomach. He replaced his mask, went to her, and held her hair back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Oh, I am…so sorry."

"Hush." He carried her to the bed and went to make her tea. When he returned, he found her crying.

She wept in his arms. When he asked what was wrong, she wept louder. "I love you, but I am weak, Erik. Forgive me."

"Do not feel bad, Christine, no one has ever been able to look at my face for long. And, now, with this…" He shook his head. "You have been an angel to do this for me. You allow me to sleep with you unmasked! I never dreamt anyone would be able to do that. I dare ask for no more."

She drank her tea, and then he held her in his arms as he did every night. From then on, as much as it bothered him to look into a mirror, he took care of his own face. He was grateful that she did not try to take over again.

---------------------------------------------o 

His voice broke through the darkness in the bedroom.

"How would you like to take a ride tomorrow?" 

"That would be nice. Where? To the park?"

"Much farther. We could visit…your Mamma Valérius. Would you like that?"

"Really? You would do that for me?"

"Of course, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you happy."

"Oh Erik, thank you!" she said, embracing him. She turned and kissed his temple where his skin was clear.

"We will need to be up quite early. Is that all right with you?"

She quickly curled into her sleeping position and drew his arm around her. "Come on, Erik, turn that lamp down."

He could feel her excitement and grinned into the dark night.

**----------------------------------------------o**

Erik was getting impatient as he waited for her. He could hear noises coming from her room. It wasn't easy for her to get dressed alone. Nevertheless, she had been adamant that morning that he stay out. Finally, she came out for his inspection. He noted that she wore the corset he had modified for her comfort under a blue dress.

"You are a jolly sight indeed, my love."

The afternoon was unseasonably cold and overcast. Despite this, Christine insisted on using the parasol that matched her midnight blue carriage dress. He insisted on bringing along his violin.

They sat together in the carriage, her arm intertwined with his. She looked at her husband. He must have felt her gaze because he turned and met her eyes warily. His expression was sad, from what she could see of his face, but his lip curled as he patted her hand and looked out the window. "Erik, have you truly forgiven me? For last night."

"There is nothing to forgive, Christine. My ugliness is beyond human comprehension and, therefore, beyond human compassion. Despite this, you have been compassionate and have even learned to love me. If I were to die…"

"Don't, Erik!" she interrupted. "Let us not tempt fate."

"Another superstition from Perros?"

"Well…"

"We are still a ways off and already you feel the pull of those old stories. However, I must say that I am most grateful for your father's stories of the Angel of Music. They proved most convenient."

She punched his arm lightly. He was not surprised this time and tweaked her nose.

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling his bone through the fabric.

The black mask covered most of his face, so she could not tell from his expressions if he was enjoying the trip. She had to guess from the set of his mouth, the turn of his head, his leaning forward, or his voice as he pointed out something to her. The closer they got to Perros-Guirec, the more their roles reversed, and she began to point things out to him. She was completely familiar with the area as they approached the Valérius home. Christine pointed to a few places she remembered from her childhood, such as the small school she attended for a while until her father pulled her out to perform with the traveling fairs. She showed him the bakery where they made the fondant covered madeleines she had loved as a child. He grunted, and she made a face; he feigned surprise and called her "an impudent child."

She also pointed to the ragged edge of rock that would lead to the sea. Christine did not mention that it had been in that place where Raoul had rescued her scarf from the sea so long ago. She thought that he might have recalled the story because he quickly looked away and asked her about a cottage in the distance. Catching herself, she was happy to announce that that was Mamma Valérius's home. She thought it strange that his reactions were of someone who had been there before. When she asked him about it, his answer was cryptic as usual. "Perhaps," he said.

The carriage came to a stop, and the coachman announced their arrival. Before they descended from the carriage, he turned away from her.

"Christine, allow me to change my mask to this one. I would not wish to frighten your Maman."

"Erik, you don't have to do that!" Mamma Valérius had been going blind now for years. Nothing could frighten her.

"I do, my dear, I do," he replied sadly.

With his back turned to her, he removed his everyday mask and replaced it with the skin-toned mask that made him look like any man. He wiggled into it and made all the adjustments necessary. Though she had seen him with it before, it was always amazing to see Erik with a face. It was a common, ordinary face. A face you would not dwell on and would simply pass in the streets, forgetting it as soon as you had laid eyes on it.

They walked up the gravel path, and she knocked on the door. A maid let them into the home. The smell of fresh-baked bread greeted them as they entered. The house was dark and somber. She remembered a lot more light entering those rooms.

Mamma Valérius sat on a large over stuffed chair by the window. She greeted Christine with a hug and a kiss and extended her hand, offering them chairs. Erik thanked her and sat stiffly.

Mamma Valérius turned to Christine. "Who did you bring with you this time, Christine? Is it that Monsieur de Chagny? Is that who accompanies you, Christine?"

"No, Mamma, I…"

"That silly young man of yours was here," continued the old woman, "filling my head with all sorts of notions."

Christine looked to Erik, but that mask covered his entire face and neck. She could not tell his reaction, his eyes were sunken, dark pools. She looked at his hands, and they lay stiffly on his knees. Erik looked as tense as a board. He was not happy with the comment.

"Raoul is nothing of mine."

"Then, he is presumptuous because he speaks as though he were. You are married now and must put him in his place."

Christine stole a glance at Erik and saw his hands begin to relax.

"Mamma, let me introduce you to my husband, Erik. I wrote to you about him."

"So, this is the man that took away my little girl and sent me a nurse in her stead."

"Enchanté, Madame. Christine and I have been rather busy, or I would have brought her to you sooner."

"What a beautiful voice your husband has. Why, I feel I could swoon," chuckled the old woman. "That Raoul de Chagny had me all worried talking nonsense about you being kidnapped by a monster. Imagine that! Why, your husband sounds like an Angel."

"I believe he is the Angel of Music my father promised me. Although, he claims to be only a man," she said, smiling at him. He answered her with a warning look.

"Come here," she said, crooking a finger at him. Erik moved closer to the old woman. "Closer," she commanded. "I am blind, and I need to see you with my hands."

He looked over to Christine, and she shrugged nervously. Stiffly, he bent over the bed and allowed the old woman to touch his fully-masked face.

"So, this is the monster that foolish boy told me about. But, this is a perfectly normal man. I have a mind to bar that boy's entry next time! You are Erik, then?"

Still overwhelmed by the compliment she gave him, he managed to answer, "Yes, Madame."

"Christine's father used to play the violin. It brought such joy into this house. Did you ever meet him?"

"I did not have the honor, but I did bring my violin with me. Would you like me to play for you?"

"Yes, I would love that," she answered, making herself comfortable on her chair.

"It would be my pleasure."

Relieved to be able to get away from her, he sprang up, opened up his case, and began to tune the instrument.

"Mamma, you should hear him sing," Christine said with pride.

Erik put the violin to his chin and began to play. Within seconds, he was lost to his music. His eyes closed, body swaying and tightening as if he were one with the violin. It was part of his new composition.

"When he is done, we shall ask him to sing," Christine told her Mamma.

When he was done with the violin and received his accolades, Erik did not refuse as he usually did but acceded to sing a short song. He sang an old French lullaby.

"Do you hear my angel?"

The two women fell under his spell and spoke of him in short phrases. Christine leaned her head to the side and half-closed her eyes. Her mouth relaxed as she spoke of him. Mamma Valérius closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When he was done, they aroused as if from a slumber.

"It is a fine instrument he has in his throat," said Mamma Valérius.

"He is the most wonderful of husbands," joined Christine.

"Indeed, he _is_ the very Angel of Music your father spoke of. Your father…how I regret that I may never hear him play again."

The old woman wiped tears from her vacant eyes.

"I am old and blind, or else I would give you a fight for this husband of yours," the old woman guffawed. "And, he plays for you daily, you say? What a life you lead, my precious. It was such beauty that your father brought to us when he moved in—his violin and you."

On the long trip back, Christine curled up on the seat and rested her head on Erik's lap while he played with her hair. It felt so soothing to have him stroke her hair.

"You didn't ask me today," she remarked.

"No, I did not."

"I love you, Erik!"

He continued with his soft strokes, caressing her scalp as well. When it stopped, she looked up, a little annoyed that he should cease her small pleasure. She saw his head leaning against the side of the coach, his eyes closed in sleep. Peeking out from under the black mask was a tiny smile on his lips. She drew his arm over her and, with a contented sigh, fell asleep on his lap.

------------------------------------------------oo

Math puzzles were first published in the Paris newspaper Le Siècle at the end of the 19th century_. "Les ancêtres français du sudoku", Pour La Science, June 2006, pages 8-11 & 89. For a sample see my website._


	22. Chapter 22 Sharing

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, Philippe, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**Thank you to my beta Busanda**. Not only does she proof the story, but she also helps me doing research. Period pieces need research in so many areas that her help is more than appreciated.

This week we had over 600 readers and 27 reviewers. I am glad to see that so many of you enjoy reading this story. If you get a chance please leave a review.

**Thank you to my reviewers**: Sue Raven, LaRosaNegra000, mildetryth, Mini Nicka, thePhantom'sEvenstar, MeGoobie, Hanna Banana, killinjoke, Quiet2885, angelofmusicx0, Timeflies, Twinkle22, Kryss LaBryn, Sarah Crawford, Busanda, Dani Blues, Ringaroundtherose, AMT, dunkmoonX, PhantomObsessed, zareka, LegalPrimaDonna, draegon-fire, Virginie, you'llbemyangel, Shadow Fox Forever, ForeverPhantoms, and haleybob.

I am participating in ToryD's round robin story Secrets Left Behind. I am writing this week's chapter (7). It is a modern, fluffy E/C story. www .fan fiction .net /s /3 2 4 4 0 6 0 /1 / You need to remove all the spaces. It should be up Sunday or Monday.

Chapter 22

Sharing

"Young de Chagny was right about Christine's husband. He must have a severe deformity. He wears a full-faced mask," Mamma Valérius said to her young nurse.

"Why, I never noticed it to be a mask, Ma'am. I thought it was his face, just a common fellow."

"My fingers never reached the edge, I found no seams. It is a fine mask indeed, probably looks human, but a mask all the same. Pity, he felt he had to hide from me, an old blind woman."

"He must have led a hard life, Ma'am," the nurse said.

"The vicomte was wrong about one thing, Erik is no monster. Did you hear Christine's laughter, and the way her voice changes when she speaks about him? I don't think M. Valérius had me going that badly in our young days." She sat up a little and smoothed down her hair. "No one who can play and sing like that can be a monster. I suppose God could not give his most musical angel everything, so he took away his face. To think, the Angel of Music was in my home," she sighed and leaned back against her pillows.

"Will you be needing anything else, Ma'am? I'm heading upstairs to do the scrubbing."

"Oh, never mind all that cleaning. I can't see the dirt anyway. Come sit by me and read me a story. Maybe some of the angel's music will come guide me to sleep."

-----------------------------------------o

"Erik, would you mind if I visited with Meg?" She looked at him shyly knowing what her question would bring up in his mind. There was no visible reaction from him.

Slowly, he got up from his chair and walked over to the fireplace. He brought his long, skeletal hands in front of him and slowly fanned them toward the fire. "Yes, my dear, I will take you in the morning."

She could tell his voice was strained; there was no reason to make him relive any of the fiasco. "If you prefer, you may take me shopping for a while."

Turning, he looked at her, his eyes softening. "Why not take little Giry along with us? Then, you can catch up with your girl talk."

"Oh Erik, would you do that?"

"Would it make you happy?"

"Of course it would." She ran up to him and hugged him. He chuckled softly and held her, resting his masked face atop her head.

---------------------------------o

He had sent the two girls into the teahouse to have their tea while he sat in a corner of the carriage shrouded in darkness. His clothes helped him blend in perfectly. His eyes were constantly pealed on the door of the establishment. He missed her already. His eyes were on her as soon as she emerged and walked toward their carriage.

"You are missing having tea with your friend," he scolded, wishing she would remain by his side.

"We met Eduard inside, Meg's beau. So, I think I left her in good company. I came out to have tea with my husband."

As she said this, a waiter approached the carriage with a full tea service. "Right here, please," she called to the waiter.

"Why not have your tea in fancy surroundings rather than with…"

"The man that I love? Why would I deprive myself of your company? That is not a fair contest for the teahouse," she said, giving him a quick peck.

Erik could not remember a moment during which he felt so comfortable and at peace. He sat back on his seat as Christine poured him a generous cup of tea.

By the time they were done with their tea, Meg joined them. "Eduard wants to know if there is space for him. He would like to join us on our shopping spree," she said, her eyes pleading.

"No! Absolutely not!" he bellowed.

"Erik, he is very nice," Christine said.

"I do not take to strangers well," he insisted. He had never had two females simultaneously begging him for anything.

"Please Erik, please," Meg begged him, taking his hand in her two smaller ones. "We never have another couple to share with."

It occurred to him that neither did they, and that Christine might enjoy this interchange even if it meant a painful few hours for him. _What could be the harm if it pleases her?_

"How can I win with two young beauties browbeating me? But, if this man's desire in joining us is to ogle me, I dare say that he would be better off to keep an eye out for his health. Go, bring your young man, little Giry!" he growled. As soon as he had acceded, he was sorry. _Oh, Christine, what things you make me do._

Meg bolted from the carriage as fast as her dress would allow her. Christine whispered ""Thank you" in his ear and gave him a quick kiss on the ear shell before she followed her friend. A soft moan escaped his lips. Her breath caressing his ear sent shivers down his spine, and the kiss was almost his undoing. _She is such an innocent; she does not realize how she tortures me. _He did not have time to relish his feelings because, within seconds, Eduard was entering the carriage with a big smile on his face. He looked around, blinking his eyes in the darkness. Erik fingered the lasso under his cape. Eduard caught the slight movement and saw a man slowly emerge from the shadows. He could not see a face, regardless, he extended his left hand toward the figure delineated in the dark. Erik inched out of the darkness and took the extended hand warily, eyeing the young man's empty sleeve.

"Sorry, the war," Eduard added to his greeting following Erik's eyes. Erik saw a flash of pain in the young man's eyes, which did not match the carefree grin. _Damn it. I just did what I hate people doing to me!_

"I suppose it took something from all of us," Erik said in his melodic voice.

"May I?" Eduard pointed to a seat opposite Erik. "The girls slipped into a store next door to the tea house.. Something about hats?"

Erik nodded. "So, you are little Giry's escort! Sit back, they take an inordinate amount of time."

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The storekeeper was not just slow, her incompetence led her to begin adding up the purchases again, delaying the two young women further. They had left the two men alone to meet each other as they continued their shopping. As they approached the carriage, they heard loud, excited voices coming from inside it. Erik! What would happen if Eduard insulted him? In all reality, she knew what would happen, unless Eduard had a gun, and in such close quarters! Christine's heart pounded in her chest. She turned to Meg, and her friend had paled to such a degree she was sure she would faint. To her surprise, one of the loud voices erupted into a laugh. Christine then heard the low, rumbling chuckle Erik used when amused. She began to open the carriage door with a trembling hand.

"Come, my love, let me help you up. You should have called out. Forgive me, I was entertained." Erik's golden eyes were soft behind the mask.

"I am glad, Erik," she told him. Although she still quivered, Christine tried to control her voice so it would not be noticeable.

Eduard descended to help place the packages into the carriage. The slow storekeeper was still bringing out boxes.

Meg sat next to Eduard holding his hand, her head on his shoulder.

"Really, Meg, if the storekeeper is so annoying, you should not purchase anything there again. You look ill, my dear," Eduard told her.

"Was she rude to you?" Erik asked Christine.

She couldn't bear it if he wanted to go in and make a scene. Her already frazzled nerves would just unravel. "No, Erik, she is just slow." Christine saw Erik eye her questioningly, but he did not make another comment.

The two girls settled in, and the small troop continued on to the next store.

--------------------------------------------o

Erik was buoyed by their shopping adventure. Little Giry's young man was intelligent and had not stared at his mask once. The young man had looked at him straight in the eye when talking to him. Also to his credit, he was missing his right arm, which made him imperfect. There was nothing in this young man that reminded him of the boy! Eduard was older, and experienced. His body had a common, angular, masculine shape. Although pleasant to look at, he did not share the languid feminine beauty the boy possessed. Eduard looked like a battle-worn soldier. He carried several small scars on his weathered face.

They had discussed current events around Paris and agreed regarding the ineptitude of the high command during the Siege of Paris. Before the girls returned, Eduard had confessed that it was during this assault that his arm had been injured. He also told Erik about a few of his exploits. Erik asked him if he had known the boy during the war.

"That pretty boy was but a child then still tied to his big brother's tit." Eduard answered.

Erik hoped Eduard would not talk like that in front of Christine, but since she wasn't there, he allowed himself to enjoy the joke. An awfully amusing image entered his head, as a low chuckle escaped his lips.

--------------------------------------------o

That night, while Erik cooked their supper, Hafiz dropped by to deliver a letter from Louis.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" Erik asked the Persian.

"You do not mind that I came over unannounced?"

"I have grown used to your pesky visits," he said, curling his lips slightly.

"What are you hiding, Erik? You are too happy. Where's Christine?"

"You are one to spoil everything. I will tell you, even though I do not have to in my own home. I will remind you that you are here uninvited…Christine is in her room…and, yes, I will call her out for you to inspect in a few minutes, but only because she enjoys your company. Odd girl, my wife!"

"You just don't seem yourself," the Persian insisted.

Erik stopped in front of Hafiz. "She loves me," he stated.

"I know that."

"How the hell do you know?"

"She told me."

"She told you?" He shook his head vigorously. "Why would she tell _you?_"

"She told me she needed to return with you because she loved you."

"Oh!"

The Persian laughed at the face Erik was making, although he could only see the bottom one third.

"We went for a ride today…with another couple," he informed the other man.

"You and Christine?"

Erik liked the shocked look on the Persian's face, so he continued.

"Little Giry and her gentleman friend joined us. I was terrified it would not end well, but the young man was actually affable. He did not stare at me or accuse me of anything. Quite unlike the present company, I might add. Christine says he hates being around people who pity him."

"I am sure he did not get any from you," the Persian stated.

"And why should I give him any? He has a face."

"I can imagine he felt you were lucky to have two arms."

"Huh? Yes, I suppose. Two arms, I do have that."

Christine came into the living area, interrupting the two men. "You do have what, Erik? Oh! Good evening to you, Hafiz." The dark-skinned man approached her and kissed her hand as always.

"I was saying, how you enjoyed today's outing. We might just do that activity again."

She snaked her arm around Erik's waist and leaned into him. He casually put his arm around her shoulders and held her close to him. He was glad Hafiz was there to see her display of affection toward him.

"Best conversation I've had in years," continued Erik. "His opinions are far ahead of his contemporaries. The idiots in the army do not know what they so easily dismissed—that is why we lost. They have a bunch of incompetents at the top."

He noticed that Christine did not invite the Persian to dinner. He marveled at the fact he had enjoyed an outing with others. Never in his life had he ever done something similar. Erik waited to open his letter until after they had had their dinner, and she was taking a long bath.

Dear Son,

I have missed you over the past few weeks. While I did not have you in my life for so many years, I have grown fond of your company. I am old, and we must not waste what time we may have left. I hope you have found the time and manner to tell your wife about your true origins. I would love to have you both come to Rouen.

Your father,

Louis

Could his father be ill? He seemed perfectly healthy. Then, why allude to the end of his life?

He needed to go, and he would take Christine with him. After the incident with the vicomte, he had no intention of ever traveling alone and leaving her behind in the Opera House again. He had to prepare Christine. How would she take the news about his family background? He could tell her now; she had shown him that she loved him for himself alone.

He had never been awed by the aristocracy. When he still lived with his mother in Lyons-la-Forêt, he remembered feeling he belonged upstairs in the big house where he took lessons with Karl.

Why was he so hesitant to tell her the truth? _What do I fear?_ Would she insist on his taking the title? He wanted a simple life, a private life. They could leave the Opera House. He could buy a small home for them, perhaps close to Mamma Valérius for Christine's sake. He did not wish to live too close to Rouen simply because Lyons-la-Forêt was nearby and so were the horrors of his childhood.

_--They had gone to Perros-Guirec on vacation. He was to accompany Karl as always. Karl's Grandmother was sick and stayed behind. The two boys were sent with a tutor, two maids, and the coachman who was to remain with them. They were both 13. For the first time since Erik had known him, Karl showed a voracious appetite for his studies. Also, for the first time ever, he was not invited to participate in the lessons and to help Karl with them. _

_Erik spent most of the time there by himself. He walked the roads and beaches. It was the first time he had seen the ocean and sailing vessels. He was fascinated with the action of the waves as they exploded against the rocks and them glided gently to his feet. During his long walks, the locals looked at him but soon got used to seeing the strange boy in the mask, and some even began to greet him. A few times, he took a walk with the coachman to get supplies. The coachman had been a sailor in his youth. The old man told him stories of far places he had visited when he was a young man. Erik was fascinated and begged for the old man's descriptions of foreign lands._

_That was the most enjoyable month of his young life. He played his violin on the beach for hours. He had no duties, and no one was beating him. On one of his outings, he saw a young girl, she may have been his age or older. She sat on a nearby rock, running slim fingers through her long blond hair, listening to his music. She did not talk to him or stare at his mask, but sat quietly on the beach as he played her sea-eyes gazing at the water. Whenever he finished a piece, she clapped delicately. He was very nervous since he had had few experiences with girls. He envisioned her as a siren singing his tunes. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He put his violin back under his chin when a heavy-set woman grabbed her and began to drag her away, eyeing him nervously. As she was leaving, the girl turned her face and smiled at him again. Everyday he went down to the beach and played, but he never saw her again. For years after, he would remember the girl's smile. "Esmé," the woman had called her. As the years passed, he became convinced that she had indeed been a siren, and protected him despite his misdeeds. Often, as he traveled the seas, he would call her name into the wind, hoping for an opportunity chance to see her smile again._

----------------------------------------------o

He invited her to enter his room. He knew she did not like to because of the coffin. "Christine, there is something about my life, about my father, that I wish to share with you, I…" He went to a drawer. "I keep all my private papers here." He withdrew a well-tied, large leather envelope.

"What the hell is that?" he yelled as a loud sound penetrated the home. "I will bet it's those managers. They have probably come up with another ingenious example of stupidity."

He put the envelope back into the drawer. "I have to see about this, my love, I will not have them making infernal noises to ruin our peace." He pressed his lips onto hers and gave her a sweet kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed as her chin raised. When he pulled back, she smiled up at him. He was still amazed that she allowed him to do that whenever he wanted._ I can kiss my wife whenever I want to!_ She was an angel sent just for him. _If only I had been born with another face. _He caressed her cheek with his bony fingers. "Wait for me."

"Sebastian!" he yelled as he walked out of their home.

----------------------------------------------o

"Nothing. We found nothing. We walked the tunnels and found nothing." Erik returned in a temper.

"The sounds stopped almost immediately after you left," she informed him.

"I would bet it's those managers. Since we were married, I haven't kept in touch as much with the goings-on of the Opera House. I need to remind those two whose Opera House it is. I will not put up with this. Tomorrow night, we will attend the Opera."

"Oh, Erik, yes, yes. What is playing now?"

"I believe it is Aida Their old staple when they have nothing new."

"You should give them your music. Especially your opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"No, Christine! They will never hear my opera. That is not for everyone to hear," he lowered his voice, realizing he was frightening her.

"I have heard it," she admitted to him, wringing her hands.

"You have heard the parts I have allowed you to hear. No, my dear, my _Don Juan_ is not for human ears." He kissed her forehead to assure her he was not in a temper.

"Why not? It was written by a man. A genius, but a man," she said, caressing his ear and chin. He leaned into her hand.

"Do not insist, Christine. And, as for my being a man, even that is debatable."

"Erik, I don't like it when you belittle yourself. You are the greatest man I have ever heard of. Why, you surpass…"

"Enough, my dear, you will swell my head, and I have no possibilities—none. Would you care for a late cup of tea before we retire?" He took her hand in his and deposited a light kiss on the back, then, turning it over, repeated the same gesture on her palm.

She gave him a defeated smile and followed him to the kitchen.

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	23. Chapter 23 New Beginnings

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside the Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my readers and reviewers. Take a look at my website for further information about the story. I have included a picture of Christine's dress. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please read and review.

This chapter is best suited for the older teenager. A special thank you to my beta, Busanda for her proofing abilities and good advice.

Chapter 23

**New Beginnings  
**

Chapter 23

Erik was in an excellent mood. He was going to take his wife to the opera. How wonderfully normal that sounded. Although he could not personally escort her, he had made sure she would be safe and that they would spend time together in Box Five enjoying _Aida_. His interactions with the managers that morning had set his good mood. He had written to the managers asking them to assure that his box would be empty and available for Mademoiselle Christine Daaé. He also requested an escort to be available to see her to and from Box Five. He had even included a generous tip for their services! The most amusing part was how he had gotten the message into Firmin Richard's pocket without his knowledge. He had then sent Madame Giry to let Richard know that he should look in his pocket for the note. The look on the managers' faces had nearly cost him his self-control; Erik had almost forgotten the fun he used to have with his trapdoors. He was getting to be an old married man, at the thought, he shook his head happily.

Dear Managers,

In the interest of keeping your peace and good health. I advise you to procure said services:

Box Five will be available for the use of Mlle. Christine Daaé, including the services of Mme. Giry.

Refreshments will be provided in Box Five for Mlle. Daaé's enjoyment.

Mlle. Daaé will arrive at 7:35 p.m. Make sure that an escort is available to take her to Box Five. At the end of the performance, said escort will accompany Mlle. Daaé back to her carriage.

Note the beauty and serenity of Mlle. Daaé. Gaze upon your next diva. I understand that your next opera is due to open in March. Make certain that her costumes are ready by then. I will assure her readiness for the part.

I am certain I can count on your discretion.

Your humble servant

O. G.

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"Erik, we have to talk."

"Do we not always talk, my dear? I do not wish you to be late. I have timed your entrance."

"Yes, but not about this," she insisted.

"Well? What is the mystery we should unravel despite the fact that it will throw my schedule off." He crossed his arms across his chest.

"Erik, we have been married for eight months now." She took a deep breath and continued, " I think we should consider being more…you know."

"No, I do not."

"We should be more…married."

"I assure you, my love, that our marriage is absolutely legal and binding by the…"

"Erik, I…I think we should be more…intimate," she blurted out. He saw the blush spread on her face.

"Oh! Are you absolutely certain, Christine?"

"Yes, I have thought about it…often, and the answer is yes."

"There would be no going back once it is done."

"I am not a child. I know about it."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. Did she mean that she's experienced? Could she and the boy have…?

"Once I take you…you will belong to me, even more than now," he warned her.

"Erik, I belong to you now."

"Do not give yourself to me so lightly, my love. It is generous of you to offer to…be intimate with a monster like me…I would not presume to brandish my ugliness at you only to have you become ill again."

"I am already yours…if you want me." She walked away to get herself ready for the evening's event, leaving Erik totally perplexed.

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The dress he had bought for her was a dream. He had presented her with the dress that morning. He never said he'd designed it, but she knew he had. The gold velvet of her gown was sumptioussumptuous and made her skin glow. He handed her a black velvet box. Christine opened it to find a diamond and ruby necklace with matching earrings. Never had she seen jewelry like that. Erik would allow no more than a light peck since it might ruin her make-up. He helped her put on her new jewels. She would have never chosen all this for herself, thinking it too grand. It was a dress fit for nobility, and the jewelry for a queen. Most operagoersopera goers chose gowns that were fashionable, which meant a dress that was close to the body, a waist cinched by a tight corset, with a large bustle in the back. Upon giving her the dress, Erik had said, "A queen does not follow fashion, she makes it." From the moment she descended from the carriage, she was the talk of the Opera House.

Christine walked up the grand staircase just as Erik had instructed her to do, past the marble statues of Caryatids and Pythias. Her train swished behind her as she skirted around the multicolored marble columns. She had been in this building many times before but always as a performer. This time, she took her time to look at the friezes adorning the walls. She admired how Persephone was wooed by Pan. She was used to being in the wings, behind the curtains. Her dress floated as she walked, just as he said it would. She felt many pairs of eyes upon her. She picked up her head a little more and continued on her way. Behind her, she left the murmurs of _Daaé, Daaé, Daaé,_ like a kiss thrown to the wind. Her escort opened the door to Box Five and closed it behind her. She arranged her dress about her and took a seat. Her gaze went up to the enormous chandelier. She shook her head as if to clear it from an unpleasant thought.

"Why do you insist on reminding yourself of that unfortunate incident? I have already explained that it was an accident!" His voice! She wasn't sure if he sat in the box with her or was elsewhere, playing his voice tricks. He sounded irritated.

"I know, but that poor woman."

A strained silence followed. She changed her gaze to the stage.

"Your entrance was astounding, my love."

"Did you see me?"

"Would I miss that?" He failed to throw his voice, and she guessed he was right behind her.

"Erik!"

"Do not turn around," he commanded. Then, in a softer tone said, "Every eye in Paris that matters is upon you."

"I feel a little shy with everyone looking at me."

"Nonsense, you know you love it. Besides, it…it is your due."

"Even the managers keep eyeing me."

"Perhaps, they are considering you for a small part."

"Do you think, Erik?" she asked excitedly. "Would they really give me a part?"

"They must, unless they are absolute fools."

The lights lowered then, and the curtain began to rise. How different the stage looked from up there. "I'd forgotten how good the view is from up here."

She felt his breath on her neck, and she could have sworn that he kissed her there. Or, had she just wanted him to do so? Her body moved in compliance.

From his seat behind hers, he made comments on the singing, always teaching. His light touches indicating what to notice, gently directing her to pay attention. Telling her how superior her voice, stage presence, and diction was compared to the creature who usurped her rightful place below. By the end of the first half, she was feeling vain about her extraordinary abilities. Then, her maestro began to tell her everything she still needed to do to be ready to take on the role of diva. She still needed to do so much work that she felt like crawling onto his lap and wrapping herself up in his arms.

As she descended from Box Five after the curtain fell, a myriad of eyes were upon her. She was escorted to her carriage, and after it made a few turns in the streets, it returned to the Rue Scribe entrance. As she walked into the dark tunnel, she felt his presence before she saw him. "Did I do well?"

"How did you know I was here?"

"I know my husband."

"I'm not sure I like being predictable. It is a dangerous trait for someone like me."

He took her arm and led her to the boat.

"Are we using this today?"

"Yes, I want to remember you floating in the water, like a fat lily pad!"

"That was awful, Erik, honestly!" He shrugged, and they laughed at his bad attempt at a joke. He stood above her poling, watching her. Erik looked at her with so much love that it made her heart begin to race, and she thought it would burst. His eyes scorched her.

------------------------------------------------0

"Erik, I need your help taking off this dress."

"I will be there shortly, Christine," he called from the living area.

She would have to take things into her own hands. Her husband, though astute in everything else, was inexperienced in the area of fulfilling their marital vows. After her bath, Christine put rose water behind her ears in preparation for her seduction. She had all of Madame Giry's advice refreshed in her head. She would force him to look at her, make him lean back on the bed, and then she would guide his hands. She was ready for the seduction of her husband. No longer would she wait for him to take the initiative. If she did, it might not be for a year or two, if ever.

When she saw him, he wore dark breeches and a silk dressing gown. His black mask was strapped on firmly. Immediately, she noticed something different about him; there was a strange glint in his eye. He walked up to her and lifted her up in his arms, as he claimed her mouth and placed her on the bed. She had expected to have to coax him toward it. It was inconsequential, she still believed that she would have to teach him.

However, he took to her body as a child did a carnival for the first time. He wanted to touch and taste everything, except he wasn't playful. Erik took all that he desired and deemed to be his. He satisfied every craving. When he inched his way inside of her, he found a resistance. Had she placed something there to save her from his intrusion?_ Too late, Christine! _If she had, he would destroy it. He continued his advance until her flesh surrendered to him, and he heard her gasp as she bit his shoulder. _You idiot, Erik, she's a virgin!_ He had always thought she'd fight him at the last minute, but she yielded without a fight, clinging to him in a sweaty embrace, releasing a pained, guttural groan. Before moving again, he stayed still inside her, giving her time to adjust. Her breathy moans made his stillness an impossibility. "I have to move, Christine. I have to," he rasped. The time for kisses and caresses ended as he reached the crescendo of his movements; he could not have stopped now if she begged him to. He no longer considered her wishes or wants—only the long-suppressed, driving need to loose his seed into her.

She had expected him to be shy in the act. She had readied herself to be the leader and guide him. Not that she had any personal experience, but she had a mentor who was a self-proclaimed expert. He never asked her. He pulled her, turned her at will, making his desires hers—his wants became her needs. As in a whirlwind, she had no control but could only allow her body to be given one pleasure after the other. His skeletal frame weighed nothing, and yet, he crushed her. She was undone by the passionate onslaught. Her release came as a savage rush. He gave her no time to prepare for it but continued his prodding and kneading. She would have stopped there and savored her new feelings, but he went on. His long bony fingers and mouth were everywhere, and another rush came sweeping her deeper into him, making her shut her eyes and grab the sheets to keep in touch with reality. By the time she felt him begin to enter her, she was a rag doll in his hands, waiting for the next pleasure that he would grant her.

The sensation spread into every fiber of his body and grew until its sheer expansion stopped every process except for feeling pleasure. He could not talk, or think, or move his hands to help himself or pleasure her. He opened his mouth to gulp in air. The entire world, including his beloved Christine, disappeared behind a veil—a whorl of oblivion. As if expiating his sins through this act, he groaned into the air and collapsed, ending in a quivering grunt as he exhaled.

He was almost brutal in giving her pleasure, as long moans and gasps escaped from her throat unimpeded. He made her tremble, and she grabbed at him for support, feeling it was too much already yet unconsciously making herself available for more. When it was over, she could not recall exactly what he had done to her or what she had enjoyed the most. His touches were overlaid as in a beautiful watercolor, each layer separate yet building on the last. She was certain of only one thing, she never wanted to do without his touch again. In her exhaustion, she lay sprawled on the bed, wantonly, without cover or shame with nothing but one word on her mind. _Erik!_

They lay side by side. She heard a harsh sound come from him and thought it had to be a sob. But, she saw Erik flat on his back, exhausted and laughing. When he noticed her looking at him, he became shy again and tried to turn his face away from her. She kissed his cheek, and he faced her. "You are mine!" he informed her. He kissed the top of her head and leaned against the pillows again, satisfied.

"Sweet child," he said, wrapping a silky tendril around his long finger. _She never belonged to the boy! I am the first!_ _Shame, Erik, shame! To lower yourself to such a base sentiment. What if she had belonged to him first, would you love her any less? _Heknew the answer to that. His adoration of Christine would never waver. He could not explain to himself the exquisite pleasure that her virginity, her total innocence, had brought him._ Then, what does it matter? This is far, far beneath you, Erik._ What an absolutely despicable being he felt he was. Had he learned nothing in his readings about human rights? Raynal, Montesquieu, John Mills, among others. Had his studies been for naught? Had he not read Mary Wollstonecraft's treatise on the rights of women? Had he not agreed with it wholeheartedly? He continued to blast himself as a satisfied smile spread upon his lips. His thoughts betrayed him again as his chest swelled with pride. Christine_ has only been mine! _With her head safely in the crook of his arm, his eyes closed as sleep overtook him.

He felt a peace he had never known in 43 years. In the back of his mind, he counted his blessings; he had a wife who wanted to be with him. She told him she loved him. He had just made love to her, and she had seemed to…no, she had enjoyed it! He, Erik, the monster, the Opera Ghost, had succeeded in pleasuring his wife!

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	24. Chapter 24 An Eye for an Eye

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

A/N: Thank you to my beta **Busanda** who was working on this chapter since early this morning. Thank you to my readers and reviewers. I wish all of you the healthiest happiest Christmas.

**A/N: **I have a Christmas story up!

**I'll be Home for Christmas. **This is the summaryMODERN DAY. Christine is a foreign student, and her visa is running out. Erik is her reclusive neighbor, who is willing to help. Will she let him? Fluffy. **EC**. The story will run during the Christmas season only. Updates every 2 to 3 days. **Please read it and let me know what you think. The beta for that story is Busanda as well.  
**

Chapter 24

**An Eye for an Eye.**

When Christine awoke she found herself facing his unmasked face. Most of the sores were gone, but it was still bad. She could look at his face, but she still shied from having contact with it. He was totally relaxed, his mouth slightly open, a glint of teeth showing. She put a hand on his thin chest and felt it rise and fall. He stirred at her touch and stretched a little but continued his slumber. He did not look like any Parisian she had ever seen. She was repulsed and fatally attracted to him. He reminded her of pictures she had seen of virile beasts from the deepest jungles. Looking at him made her begin to feel her sore places. She understood what he had meant about belonging to him even more if she gave herself to him. She was totally his now, and he would pleasure her on his terms. If he awoke and wanted her, he would not ask her, but would take what he wanted from her. That thought excited her. He had taken her soul a long time ago, now her body belonged to him as well. She was Erik's.

In the back of her mind, a bad feeling crawled to the forefront. _You let him keep the mask on. You let him keep it on while he made love to you._ He would never fault her; on the contrary, he would feel grateful that she had allowed him such intimate contact. He would praise her, but she knew better. She had also noted that he kept his clothes on. More than once he had implied that there was something wrong with his body. Last night, she had allowed his clothes to remain on, not wanting to find out what was 'wrong'. She frowned and pushed the thought to the back of her mind with a sigh. Christine was both sleepy and achy, and in that state of mind, she crawled out of bed to make them a recuperative breakfast. Once their breakfast was in the oven, she crawled back into bed with him.

Erik woke up ravenous and could smell wonderful odors coming from the kitchen. How could that be when she was right here with her warm arms wrapped around him? This was the most wonderful way anyone could wake up. He peeked between his lashes at his beautiful wife. He could not fathom why she would love him as she claimed to, or why she would allow a carcass like him such intimate access. Her words and reactions left him little doubt that this angel from heaven did love and want him. He had tasted of heaven's delight. _Perhaps, she was just curious, just wanted to know what it was like to make love to a monster. Does that sound like Christine? You are indeed a fool if you hurt her with your doubts. _He needed to know if last night had been a fluke. If she did not want him today, all she needed to do was to say so, and he would crawl away to his coffin. With his eyes still closed, he pulled her closer to him. Erik took her for himself and did not allow his own bliss until he heard her wild cries of pleasure as she clutched at him. She did want him. She had tried to caress him, but he stopped her wandering hands; he would not exhibit himself nor would he allow her to touch his body. Never again would he deny himself the pleasure of his wife's body. Knowing it to be his oasis, he would drink of those waters as often as he needed to in order to sate his thirst.

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Several times that morning, he had asked her if she loved him. No matter how many times she said it, it could not satisfy him that day. His eyes searched hers. Intimacy had brought out a new insecurity in him. His hunger for love had no bottom, and no matter how she tried to fill him, there was no end to his need. He kept her near him all day as if she would disappear.

She sat next to him in a peach dress. A large bustle extended from behind. Her corset was very tight, giving her a wasp waist. He recalled the dress as one she had purchased during their outing with Meg and Eduard. She looked beautiful, but he wondered why she would dress like that inside their home.

"Erik, I thought we could go out to the park for a while."

"The park?" _Why would she want to do this to him?_ "In the daytime?"

"Well, by carriage."

"I do not see why you would bother to ask me if you are dressed for an outing all ready," he threw at her.

"I guess, I am," she said sheepishly, looking down at her dress.

"Is this what I am to expect from now on, Christine? You will be the one to make plans for us. Am I expected to be your lap dog?" He felt his temper rising.

"You always tell me to think for myself and to make my own decisions," she insisted.

"Yes. Yes, but I did not give you permission to do so today!" he snapped. His hands balled at his sides.

She stood staring at him wide-eyed, hands on hips. His wife looked incensed. Her breathing had changed. He wished he had more experience with women. One of the things he had just said had obviously infuriated her_. It would not do to lose my temper today. _

Erik looked at her sideways and sighed. "Oh, Christine, you have married an old man. Can you forgive your little husband? I do want you to think for yourself," he said, controlling his voice to make it as melodious as only he could. "The only thing is…that corset. It will do you harm, my dear. Please, remove it."

"This is the one that goes best with this dress." He could tell she would stand her ground over this issue. Perhaps reasoning with her would work.

"What is more important, fashion or your health?"

"Wearing it for a few hours will not hurt me."

Where was the compliant woman who had just left their bed? The one who hung on his every word? He was her husband, for heaven's sake! _Is this what lovemaking does to a woman?_ He smiled inwardly at the memory of their two encounters.

"I hope you intend to remain standing for a few hours. There is no way that you will be able to sit on any normal seat with that elongated sausage on your backside." He ventured a joke hoping to alleviate the tension.

"I will wear it!"

Obviously she had missed the joke and was in no mood to entertain it. "Do you challenge me, Christine?" He was nervous about entering into an argument with her. Would she stop loving him or deny him his marital rights again? There was never a question of forcing himself on her. If she hated him he could not survive. He felt damp with perspiration. He had to control his temper, although he was irritated beyond belief.

"Do you forbid me, Erik?" The gauntlet had been thrown.

"I do not wish to deny you, but I am not sure we would both fit in a carriage with you…in…that!" He gained control of his voice and kept it light. He curled his lip in order to modify the snarl he felt approaching.

He noticed she was looking deeply into his eyes. "Let us compromise then. I get to wear my dress as it is, and we go for a carriage ride after our tea. It should be dark enough by then," she offered.

"Your hardheadedness will be the death of me." Erik did a mock bow to her, glad to be out of that argument. He planned to kiss her fully on the mouth inside their carriage as Paris rolled by, perhaps more than once. The thought alone made his discomfort increase.

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It was close to teatime when they heard the alarm that signaled a visit from Hafiz. Erik went to the tunnel entrance to greet the man who had pursued him for so many years, attempting to act as an external conscience. This was not a day when Erik would have wanted visitors.

The two men sat facing each other.

"I'm exhausted." Erik smirked, stretching his arms overhead.

"It's only ten in the morning. How can you be tired?"

"Well, I suppose _you_ had a good night's rest."

"Why are you never clear in what you say? Are you trying to imply that you did not?"

"Why should I need to imply anything!" Erik snapped at him.

Hafiz shook his head and frowned. He sat at the edge of his chair. "You can't be happy if you are doing wrong, Erik…you can't. Let the girl go."

"Let her go? She's my wife. She says she loves me. What more do you want?"

"Does she say it when you ask her or of her own choice?"

"She comes to me with kisses. She accepts my touch."

"But under what circumstances? Have you… have you touched her?" Erik looked away.

"Allah, have mercy!" The Persian brought both hands to his head. "How far have you gone? Did you force yourself on that girl, Erik?"

"She is my wife. I do not need to force…," he growled.

"Did you even ask her? Have you ever given her a choice?"

"I repeat to you that she is my wife. She chose to marry me."

With a deep sigh, Hafiz continued, "When this…aberration occurs, does she allow you to keep your mask off? _Christine cannot even look at my face without feeling sick._

"Surely, you did not display your body to her. Has she ever seen you in your full glory as I did at the Nijinsky fair?"

Even last night he had kept his clothes on, removing just enough to accomplish his mission. _No, she has not seen me, nor will I ever display myself to her_.

"Have you told her how you made yourself rich by displaying your hideousness before multitudes? Did you tell her you were called the "living corpse" because, in effect, you look like one?"

He had told her almost nothing about his past life. He managed to gloss over all the horrid details, emphasizing his building of the palaces in Persia and Constantinople. Before then, he had been an entertainer, a conjurer, and a musician.

"You are treading on thin ground, Daroga" With those words, Erik slid down onto a chair and put his head on his hands. Shaking his head, he said, "I need her love. I deserve love just like anyone else."

"I'm sorry. I know what you want, but have you thought of what is best for her. She is nineteen-years old, stuck down here with a living corpse because she doesn't know better. You have even made her think she's happy. Do you sing to her?"

He heard Erik groan. "You know the power of your voice. She might think she loves you, but I won't believe it, nor will you, until she sees the real you and says it."

Christine had never said it again without his prompting. He had asked her countless times to repeat it. _I usually have to pry it out of her_. She acted as if she loved him. Now, he could not be sure. Erik could not recall with clarity if she said it because she felt it or to please him because he was so pitiful. _Damn him, but he may be right, and she does not love me. No, no, she loves me, she said so. I did not ask the first time. Or did I? Have I been forcing myself on her? His mind was foggy with worry. _He left Hafiz and joined Christine in the kitchen.

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He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Christine, do you truly love me. I would understand if your answer is in the negative."

"I love you, Erik."

He looked at her with such pain it worried her.

"Erik, what in heaven's name is wrong?"

"I've been forcing you to repeat it over and over again. You can't possibly mean it anymore…if you ever did."

If this accusation were made by anyone else, she would be offended. She was expecting this. He had been asking her if she still loved him, if she really loved him, and how she could love him. She knew she would have to reassure him. Her Erik would not easily take to being loved.

"Erik, I have loved you for a long time, but I had to recognize the feelings in myself. I wasn't sure because I have never been in love before."

"What of the boy!" he asked, venom dripping from his voice. "Did you not tell him of your love?"

"He…," she knew better than to voice Raoul's name, "…was my childhood friend, and for a few weeks we played that he was courting me. We both became confused and thought it real at the end."

"_He_ was not confused. He loves you."

"Well, I'm sorry for him if he does because I love my husband more than anything in the world."

His eyes changed at her words, becoming more amber. They seemed to glow. He smiled a little. "Really? Can you love this creature that everyone else repudiates? I am so ugly," he said, looking down away from her.

"Then, I guess I love ugly," she said lightly with a shrug to her shoulders. She wished she could ask him to remove the mask and kiss him, but she could not guarantee her reaction. _Shame on you, Christine! No wonder he doubts you! _She stood on tiptoe, stole a kiss, and left with the tea tray.

Erik sighed, touching his lips. Her lips were so soft and delicious. "I love ugly," she had said. Could it be? Could it be that she could love him even if he was ugly? He followed her out to see the most shocking sight of his life.

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Due to her curiosity, Christine had heard everything. She wanted to know if Erik would brag to his friend that they had been intimate. Erik had hinted at their secret, as she had known he would. She had not expected such a barrage of cruelty to come from Hafiz. This was the man who had rescued her from Erik when she'd nearly driven her husband insane with her subterfuge. She was grateful to him, but she would not allow anyone to hurt her Erik. It was true she was uncomfortable with his face, and that she had never seen much of his body since he bathed and dressed in his room. He kept his body well-covered by multiple layers of clothing. When they slept, he wore a night shirt with other layers underneath. Even last night, she could feel the thinness under the layers. If his face was an indication, his body had to be frightening. No, she did not want to see, but she did love him. This morning they had been intimate again, but he never let her touch him. Their loving was passionate, but not leisurely. There were no loving caresses—every touch was aimed at satisfying her body. As much as she enjoyed it, she felt that _he _had pleasured her and not that they had made love. She knew she had to be patient in this as well, since by his account, he was new to this, too.

Christine walked to the small table in the library and put her tray down. She then stood in front of Hafiz and slapped him.

Erik saw the Persian's head snap back. The man's face contorted with surprise and shock.

Christine put her hands on her waist.

"I heard what you say to my husband? Why would you purposely hurt him. I told you in your house, and I told you here that I love him. If you can't be civil and kind to my husband, then you will not be welcomed into our home."

"I am…"

"No, I don't want an apology, Hafiz. I don't even want to hear your voice. You may return when you have thought about it and are ready to apologize to him for your behavior today. And now, please leave.

Looking shocked, the Persian picked up his hat and, without another word, walked out of their home through the tunnel.

"The nerve!" she hissed.

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Erik waited until Hafiz was long gone. He did not want his wife to know he had eavesdropped.

"Where is that Persian?" he asked.

"He had to leave. There are some things he has to think about. Come, sweetheart." She took him by the hand and they both sat on the divan. "Let's have our tea, and then we can have our ride in the park…if my husband is agreeable." After what he had just witnessed, his wife could wear whatever she chose to on that day!

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"Maman, did you read today's issue? The article is about Christine! I have to save it for her." Meg walked toward Madame Giry with the latest issue of the Époque.

Époque: Christine Daaé's return to The Paris Opera House is a delight! The former Diva of Faust returned to the site of her success earlier this year. She surprised everyone with her sudden appearance. The superbly dressed Daaé took Paris by storm last night. All this without a sound from her golden throat. For months, opera goers had speculated on the whereabouts of the young diva. Moreover, everyone still wonders if Daaé is indeed married to the Paris Opera House resident ghost. Paris dressmakers were bombarded this morning with requests for a Daaé-like dress. The Opera House managers expressed jubilation at her return, and even hinted at the possibility of having her sing there soon.

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"Erik can you do my collar button?" Normally, he would hear her without her needing to call out. "Erik!"

"Yes?" Even wearing the same dress, she had transformed herself. Christine looked like those pictures in the fashion magazines. She was perfect from her top piled curls to her dainty boots. Erik loved to see his wife looking so elegant. She looked perfect standing in the center of the library among all his treasured books. He wasn't sure about giving her a kiss in the carriage anymore, she did not deserve to be mussed up for his pleasure.

"I was just asking if you could do this?"

The scratching was getting louder. "You see, it's not my imagination. Admit you made a mistake, Erik!"

"Well, I…it's the way you described it, Christine. You said it sounded like thunder," he said.

"I'm not letting you get away with that," she said, advancing on him. "Say 'sorry I did not believe you, Christine.'"

"What _is_ that infernal noise? Sebastian and I could not find the source of it. Those managers are going to hear from me."

He had been lazy about contacting the managers, worrying more about his relationship with his wife. Before, when he was alone, he would have never permitted such a violation of his peace. Now, he was always busy with some Christine-related activity. His life was full of outings, shared music, books, meals, and now making love. He put a daring hand to her breast. _Mine! _A smile crept up to his lips. However, he had to put an end to this intrusive noise, _after _they went on their ride.

"Honestly, Erik, you are being…" She closed in on him with clawed hands to tickle his sides. "Christine!" he warned in jest and backpedaled. She continued until she drew a rare grin. He hugged her to him. "My precious girl."

The entire house on the lake seemed to shake. They heard a loud thud and an even louder cracking.

"Stay!" he ordered. Erik ran out of the library only to return within seconds. In an agitated voice, he said, "Christine, they have broken through into the house!"

"Who? What do they want?"

"Me!" he said calmly. "We only have a few moments, follow me! I saw ten, there may be more." There was no way he could take on ten men, especially not in an enclosed space.

He could see that she looked terrified. He understood because he was shocked himself. These strangers had dared break into his home! There was no time to console her. He swallowed his shame in having allowed this to happen and now needing to hide because the situation was beyond his powers. "I am so sorry, Christine. I…"

Erik took her hand and quickly led her to a bookshelf. He touched a latch and it swiveled to reveal a hidden space. The light from torches danced on the walls. They heard strange voices by the front door.

"Open it, damn you," said a man's voice.

"You have to get that door open to let the others in."

"Break the locks. Just let them in," grunted another one, as if he were making a great effort.

"Quickly, in here…go in." Erik took Christine by the arm and roughly shoved her into the opening. She tried to push herself into a corner to make space for him but was unable to. Her dress, with its large bustle, took up too much room.

Her eyes grew wide with horror. "No…Erik, there's not enough space. I need to take off my dress."

"No time!"

As her mind whirled trying to think of a way to make him fit into the small space, he turned his head as the voices approached. "You are my life. I love you as God must love his creation," he rasped.

They heard a bang. The door was breeched! A roar of voices reached them. Erik kissed her desperately on the lips and gave her a sad smile, his golden eyes flashing his love for her—a love that would last for all eternity. "I'll love you forever."

"No, Erik, you need to get in. Please, please, my love get in. It is you they are after." Twisting as she could, she tried unsuccessfully to remove the bustle from her dress in the small space. "Rip this off me!" The sound approaching them was deafening.

"To get out, press here." He took her hand and showed her "Look! Here, just press… Remember my music, Christine!" He slammed the door in her face.

"No, Erik!" She was surprised to find herself behind a small two-way mirror. Her vision was slightly covered by a few small books. She felt as if the door wasn't really separating him from her. She heard heavy footsteps getting closer. They were so close…where would he hide? She wanted them together. He had to have another emergency hide-out. But, where? She felt as if she would go mad. _Hide, Erik. Please! Hide from them. Save yourself!_

"Hide, Erik!" she called out. If he heard her, there was no acknowledgement.

Christine searched the door with her hands, trying to find the latch he had shown her when they entered the room. Her hands dropped at the sight. There were at least fifteen ruffians in their home. Rough looking men with iron tubes and wooden sticks in their hands. They looked filthy and mean. She recognized a few of them as cleaners and other workers in the Opera House.

Her husband stood in front of them in full evening dress. He stood majestically, as if he were about to sing an aria. "But, you didn't knock, Messieurs. What deplorable etiquette!" Erik said in his most melodic intonation. For a moment, the ruffians were stunned and froze in place. He swaggered toward them.

"Forgive my manners, Messieurs and Mademoiselle." At his words, Christine saw the woman among them. She could make out a smaller feminine figure toward the back of the mob.

"That's the bastard murderer. Kill him and find her," someone screeched from the back. The group regained their vengeful mood and pounced on him. Christine recognized Mirielle's voice.

"But where is Christine?" Miriele said.

"Look for the woman. She has to be here," a man commanded others.

"Find her, and get the jewelry. I've seen the lot of it. Thinks she's better than other people, does she? That braggart should be back there. Come on." Miriele led two men to another part of the house.

They were after her! Instinctively, Christine pushed herself back and fought closing her eyes.

Erik laughed, drawing their attention to himself. "She's shopping, just missed her," he said, his voice dripping in mock sarcasm.

One of the cleaners hit Erik on the side of the head with a wooden plank. His head snapped sideways. This was quickly followed with a hit by a wrench to his shoulder. Another man swung a thick metal bar and slammed it into Erik's chest he doubled over and was dragged away, disappearing into the mob while pipes and poles rained on his back. _Erik_! He was hidden from her view by a sea of bodies and swinging weapons. Christine tried to scream, but her mouth was left open with a noiseless, breathless scream caught in her throat. She couldn't see them anymore, but she heard the words "monster" and "kill him" over and over again. The infernal noises tore through her. She had to go to him, hand them everything they wanted! Her fingers searched for the latch. _They were after me! I'll give them all the jewels gladly, just leave him alone._

A shot rang through the cave, chilling her heart. She shrank into the back of the cupboard, dreading the worst. This time her eyes shut on their own. She did not want to know. The voices subsided and where replaced by one voice giving orders. Still, she could not find the latch. Christine knew that her Erik would not return to let her out. She feared being entombed in this cavity. Suddenly, his fate seemed less cruel than her own did. In the short amount of time he had had, Erik had shown her, but she had not minded him. With desperate hands, she continued going around the edges of the door until she found a protrusion. Her small hand worked the tiny latch until it clicked. She pushed against the heavy door and ran out, running toward the lake.

The eerie silence terrified her. There was no one in their home. The door was swung open. The men must have taken him. Christine had expected their home to be in total shambles, but it wasn't. Erik's music was strewed on the floor, the candlesticks from the piano were scattered on the floor. The piano bench was on its side, missing a leg. "Erik?" she whispered softly. He might be caged by now. How could she help him if he was in prison? She ran to the door. In her despondent state, Christine's eye caught a trickle of blood as it made its way down the slight incline toward the shore.

"Erik!" She rushed out the door. A large, dark figure lay crumpled on the stone, blood all around him, his left arm in an unnatural position. A bloodied candlestick lay by his head. The missing bench leg also lay nearby. She was both relieved and dismayed at the sight. He didn't move. "Erik, my Erik," she repeated softly as she knelt by his side. Using all her strength, Christine managed to turn his limp form over. The front of his white shirt was stained dark with blood. His visage was totally ravaged. She cradled his bloody head on her lap. "Oh, Erik." It was more than she could bear, and she let the hot tears flow and wash down onto his face.

Her lover lay broken, lifeless. She looked at his face. It did not exist, he had no features at all. What had been his face was now a bloody pulp with only a slit through which he breathed. They had scraped it off, there was no face! She recalled her worries about his face not touching her because she found it disgusting. _You let him keep the mask on. You let him keep it on while he made love to you! _The knot in her stomach grew until she felt it was choking her.

He spluttered blood through the slit. Was that how he breathed? She did as she had seen the Opera House doctor check patients. She put her fingers by his neck and checked for his pulse. She felt nothing! From far away, Christine Daaé thought she heard someone screaming. It would not stop. The far away wail continued, permeating the walls and darkening them until the lake itself was black and her breath run out. Christine collapsedfell over Erik.

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**Black Despai**r updates next weekend.

**I'll be Home for Christmas** updates tomorrow evening.

**Merry Christmas from Phantasmarose!**


	25. Chapter 25 Reap What You Sow

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my beta **Busanda**. She is instrumental to this story's success. As you can see, she continues to do a superb job.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers. If you get a chance please leave a review, it energizes the muse.

The ff.n server is adding strange things to some documents!

I wish you all a HAPPY NEW YEAR in 2007!

**Chapter 25**

**Reap What You Sow**

Had she fainted? _How long was I out? _She suddenly recalled what had caused her to faint._ Erik?_ She gasped, feeling her body freeze. _Dead?_ She touched his hand, it was ice cold. What should she do with his body? She could not imagine parting from him. This thought wrenched a sob from her mouth.

Christine heard splashing on the lake, and thinking that the band of ruffians was back to finish destroying her husband's body, she instinctively wrapped herself over him, sobbing convulsively. _Erik!_ They had left her with nothing, she couldn't even say good-bye.

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When Gaston came up on the shore, he heard sobs…a woman's sobs. Confused, he rushed on to the shore and saw a woman sprawled on top of the dark form. She clung to him so tightly, he wondered if the thieves would have been able to tear her away. "Go away. I won't let you hurt him any more. Haven't you done enough?" she gasped between sobs.

Gaston kneeled down next to the double form. He took Erik's left wrist and tried to feel a pulse.

"Noooo, no! Let him go! I won't let you take him," she screeched and took his arm away from Gaston. Her sobs deepened.

Gaston was at a loss. "Look, I want to help," he said tentatively.

"It's too late. My Erik is dead! Just leave us." The pain in her voice was vibrant and raw.

Instinctively, his hand shot to Erik's neck and again he felt for a pulse there.

Gaston felt a light throb under his fingertips. A very weak pulse, but a pulse all the same. "My dear lady, this man lives!"

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She swallowed hard. "Alive?" her voice trembled. Christine lifted her body from Erik's and watched his chest to see if indeed it was rising and falling. Her lips neared to the slit where she had last seen him breathe through; she could perceive no exhalation. Her hand tentatively spread over his chest. She felt no heartbeat. She looked up at the stranger in desperation.

"Not there," the man indicated. "Here," he said, taking her hands and placing her fingertips over an artery in his neck. "Feel it?" he asked.

She felt it, and every tiny pulsation gave her life. A smile of gratitude pervaded her mouth and then her eyes. She still felt numb, slowed by the events.

The air around her grew thin, and her heart raced. The lake and cavern seemed to grow but did not spin. She felt a light sweat cover her body as she attempted to get air into her lungs. "Erik, oh Erik!" she whispered. Christine wanted to call to him louder, but her voice had left her. "Erik, can you hear me?"

"Madame, he should not lie here…where can I…?"

Of course, Erik should not remain there, but what did this man want from her with his questioning eyes? Everything was so confusing. "Yes?"

"Show me to his bed," the stranger said gently. She nodded, and he hefted Erik's unconscious form into his arms. _Erik must not weigh much. He really should eat more._ She motioned slightly with her head for the man to follow her.

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Gaston laid the still form on the Louis-Philippe bed. It was obvious to him that the girl was in shock. She could help, but only if directed. "Bring me a bowl with water and some clean towels. If you have an antiseptic, bring that too." She left without a word to get the items she was asked for. Gaston set to work removing Erik's blood-soaked shirt. The man looked emaciated. Perhaps he had been hiding out underground for months, but if this was his home…strange. The bloodied head worried him. It was evident he had received severe blows there. Gaston could not figure out why this man they called the Opera Ghost should be in such a poor state of health. According to the Opera House workers, he was agile, cunning, and had the face of a monster.

The girl returned with everything she had been asked for. Quietly, with the same singular purpose in mind, she cleaned his face working quickly. Lying on the bed, the Opera Ghost's pummeled visage began to appear from under the congealed blood. To Gaston, the "Ghost" looked like a living, faceless corpse. As the woman cleaned the man up, Gaston realized that the man must normally look like that because the woman was not disgusted or screaming. He wondered at how lovingly she dabbed the mangled folds of skin. He was used to seeing corpses in his line of work. Some looked worse than this man did, but none were alive. No living person should have that face. He understood now why the Ghost wore a mask. Yet, Gaston thought that he had never seen a woman look at a man with so much love. Gaston came up behind her and softly said, "You should rest. I can finish up." She didn't look up, just simply shook her head. Gaston knew she wasn't being impolite, but that she couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from her mate.

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Christine sat by Erik's side, absorbing the fact that her husband lived still. This was not like the time he got hurt in the tunnel. He had had some scratches on his face and a residual cough.then. The wounds were deeper this time. He had been hit over and over with blunt objects, probably the pipes and wooden posts she had seen them brandishing from her tiny cupboard space. His face was clean now. She could see the damage. The skin had been scrapped from several parts of his face, probably due to his being dragged. His right eye was purple and swollen shut; she opened it gingerly only to see his yellow eye surrounded by a sea of blood. The other eye had an equally purple bruise but only under the eye; the blow had apparently been lower. His lips were thrice their normal size. His teeth had all miraculously been saved. His right cheekbone, normally angular was flattened. She expected him to be in pain, but to her dismay, he did not move or complain. His left hand trembled, and she held on to it. Deep purple splotches covered his chest, indicating that he had received numerous blows there as well. His head was full of small lumps protruding from his scalp, visible due to the sparseness of his hair.

The hole that stood in the space where his nose should have been was still closed off with coagulated blood. _No wonder his mouth is open._ Had he had a nose, it would have been broken beyond repair. She cleaned the hole carefully and immediately saw him begin to draw air through it. She was glad for his unconscious state; he would never allow her to do so much for him if he were awake. His arm still lay at an odd angle from his body, but she did not dare touch it. By the state of the rest of his body, she was sure there were broken bones. His labored breathing concerned her, but each breath he took wrenched a silent thank you to God from her heart because he lived. _My Erik!_

How candid life was. She had thought him too ugly to take care of before, too ugly to look at without his mask. When they had finally made love, he had challenged her every idea of what a wedding night should be; he had given her what she had not known existed. Even so,Then also, he had been too ugly for her to ask him to remove his mask during their love acts. _Christine, you fool! I do not deserve him. The world does not deserve him!_

What she would give now to see those golden eyes open up in that ugly face. _Oh, Lord, please give me a chance to make it up to my Erik. How vain and shallow I have been. No one has loved me as he does. _She thought of her father, loving as he was, in following his desire to play music, they had gone from fair to fair and town to town, leaving their home and her studies behind. He had given her love but a less than acceptable childhood. His music and his dreams always came first. _Only Erik has ever put me first._ Her face washed in tears as she recalled how he thought only of her safety that morning, placing her in his hiding spot.

His injuries were far beyond her. No salve or tea would help him. He needed medical attention. Somehow, she had to get him to a doctor. Perhaps, the man who carried him could help her. She wondered why he had not been upset when he saw Erik's face and had even offered to help her. Christine looked up at the man and, for the first time, realized he wore a uniform—he was from the police! She looked into his eyes in terror. The man did not seem aggressive, but surely, he would want to take Erik to prison once he recuperated. Christine would not allow that.

-----------------------------------o

Gaston noticed the look in the girl's face after her eyes traveled his body, taking in the uniform. It was obvious to him that she feared him and his power to hurt her or incarcerate her companion. After her shock had passed, he said, "I have been rude and have not introduced myself. I am Gaston Durand, inspector for the Paris Police."

"I am Christine, Christine Daaé. This is my husband…Erik," she informed him, weighing each word said, careful not to betray the man on the bed in some way. _Christine Daaé. Ah, the girl the Ghost supposedly kidnapped. And, he is her husband she said? Another myth debunked. Interesting that the Ghost himself has a name, 'Erik' indeed._

He continued his attempt to put her at ease. "I had been assigned to lead an investigation concerning a band of thieves operating in the area. I was told they had gone underground here at the Opera House, making it their hideaway. This was the day we chose to raid them. They were in a part of the cellars called the Communists' dungeon, I believe. It's located right under your home. It was luck we came upon them in the middle of their attack."

"Where are they now?" she inquired.

"They scattered, but my men went after them. I should get a report soon."

"So, you were not looking for…? Well!" she sighed with relief.

Gaston saw her shoulders relax, and she returned to idly stroke the Ghost's hair.

She looked up at him. "I need to get him to a private doctor. We have money."

"Yes, we can take him to a hospital."

"It must be a special doctor; my husband's injuries demand special care. Can you remain with him while I go upstairs? My friends know how to reach the doctor."

"My pleasure, Madame. Do be careful on your way. I would send someone with you, but as you can see we are alone."

"I know my way well, Monsieur. I will make a hasty return. Thank you."

He saw the girl go to the Ghost's bedside, deposited a kiss on his forehead, and rushed out the door.

Gaston sat next to Erik and stared into his monstrous face. "So, we meet again, Monsieur le Fantôme!"

-------------------------------------o

Meg! She could get Meg to help her. Christine rushed up the stairs as quickly as possible. Eduard happened to be visiting with Meg as she rushed in. She blurted everything out at once. Both Meg and Eduard came down to the house by the lake with her. Eduard immediately offered his coach and left to make the arrangements. Meg remained with her, sitting by Erik while Christine gathered their things.

Christine wanted to choke Mariele with the jewels she had come to steal. She made the sign of the cross and said a short prayer to rid herself of such thoughts. She still felt furious and busied herself gathering their belongings into valises.

_Had it not been for my stubbornness about this stupid dress, we would have both fit in the space he'd prepared. I had to have the latest, biggest bustle on the market. I went against his wishes and this is my prize!_ She took off the dress, the petticoats, bustle, and corset and threw them in a corner. She sat on the bed, their bed, the bed they had shared for months now, the bed they had made love in. She put on a simple housedress and the corset Erik had modified for her. She tied her hair into a tight bun. Once in a while, she left her chores and returned to his side to check on him.

Would they ever return here? It was no longer safe. Even the police knew how to find his home_. Erik would be horrified by this invasion of his privacy._

She put their most necessary belongings in valises and trunks. All of his music was stacked and along with his violin, was carefully placed into a trunk. She had no idea when or if they would ever return. She looked in all the places he had shown her and retrieved cash, jewels, and other valuables. Her own jewelry was packed away carefully. They would need money until he was on his feet and then…she couldn't think that far. She took a wad of money and placed it in her bag.

Christine found a thick leather folder with documents in his drawers. It contained his baptismal certificate, the papers in which his father legally recognized him, and other papers she could not understand. It also had papers in other languages she could not decipher. She found an address at the top of some of the papers and a name, Louis Rouxville; that must be Erik's father. Another name appeared in the papers, Marquis du Bourg-Denis; his father must work in a nobleman's home. She showed the papers to Gaston, and he promised to send a telegraph in the morning informing Erik's father of their imminent arrival and of Erik's condition. _At least, he will be expecting us._ She prayed their arrival would not cost the man his job. Erik seemed fond of his father.

Gaston left their home when his men arrived. He left one of his men outside the front door. The report was that only some of the gang members had been found, all men. _She wasn't caught._ It bothered Christine that Mariele was still at large. She shook her head before another bad thought formulated in her mind.

What if Mariele convinced others to return with her to finish her heinous deed? Except for the one guard, she and Meg were alone. Christine went to Erik's drawer and took out his pistol. They would have to get through her to get him. God allowed self-defense, and she was willing to defend Erik's life at whatever cost. Christine made the sign of the cross and put the pistol in her waistband.

A few hours later, Meg left them to their privacy in the bedroom and went to sleep on the divan. Christine crawled in with Erik and watched him until her own eyes closed from exhaustion.

--------------------------------------------------o

Gaston knocked on her door.

"Come in." She had been up for over an hour. Erik was trembling this morning.

Christine looked up at her savior from the day before and said to him, "Still asleep."

He noticed that Christine had a gun lodged in her waistband. He doubted she would know how to use it. Gaston thought she looked comical and wished the Ghost could see his wife. Then, he noticed the down turned mouth and dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. No, he wouldn't want to see that.

"That's probably a good sign, his body needs to heal," he said without much conviction, needing to say it for her sake.

"The carriage is here," he informed her. She quickly moved to cover Erik's face with the leather mask. He would want this. She felt guilty acquiescing to his unspoken request.

A shadow passed in the distance. It came nearer. A man dressed in black with a filthy face drew closer. "I am the ratcatcher… I know Erik."

"You are the man that visits." She wondered why Erik would have anything to do with a man such as this. Her husband was so cultured, so refined, that their association defied logic.

"Yes."

"He does know Erik," she said to Gaston. "Will you help us?"

"If he's the one that needs the help, I'm here." The ratcatcher paused a moment as if trying to put his thoughts together. "Ma'am, them that came…they don't know their place. Touching a man like him! They deserve their neck on the end of a rope."

Sebastian led Eduard and two burly footmen into the home through the tunnel Hafiz used. They lifted her husband onto a stretcher and left with him. He seemed very frail as he was lifted and carried out. The rest of the things she had packed where distributed between Gaston, Eduard, and Sebastian. She and Meg carried the valises with valuables and food. She did not look back.

"Here, take this," she offered money to Sebastian.

"No, Ma'am, I won't take a coin for helping him."

He wore an old suit. It was tight on his muscular body. The material and cut were too fine for the suit to have been his originally. She turned her head slightly, detecting his fetid breath.

"Ma'am, when he wakes up, tell him I don't like to owe nobody nothin'. A job paid for is a job done."

"Please, take the money. He would want you to have it," she said, her hand outstretched with francs.

The man had already disappeared into the dark recesses of the tunnels.

She wondered what this strange man was talking about. As soon as she heard the words, Christine began to jumble them in her mind and understood nothing. She just wanted to get going and take her husband to a safer place than Paris.

They placed Erik across one of the seats. He was cramped and looked uncomfortable.

Gaston offered to take them to the edge of the city in case there were any problems. Eduard offered to accompany her to their destination. Christine refused his offer.

"Your husband would not have you traveling alone," Eduard told her.

"I am not alone. I am with my husband."

"Your husband is unconscious and unable to protect you," he insisted.

His eyes begged her to allow him to do this. She looked to Meg and saw a similar look in her eyes. Christine realized that Eduard needed to do this as much for himself as for her.

"Thank you. I can use your help." Meg smiled at her gratefully and kissed Eduard as he ascended the carriage to join her.

--------------------------------------------o

Once in side the carriage Gaston noticed the girl's pallor. She stared at her husband intently, as if willing him to be well by the sheer force of her love. Then she began to talk in a nervous voice. She told them about Erik saving her from the gang of thieves and then handing himself over as a sacrificial lamb. She mentioned that one of the thieves had been Mariele, and that she had been a guest at their wedding. Eduard and Gaston had both been stunned by the cleaning woman's audacity in returning to Christine's home as a thief having once been a guest.

Gaston then explained his connection with the Opera Ghost. His story amazed and fully captured her attention and Eduard's, if for a short while.

---------------------------------------------------oo


	26. Chapter 26 A Ghost Relocates

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** A special thank you to my beta **Busanda**. She researched about the horses, roads, etc. Historical fics must be as accurate as possible and I appreciate her help. There are pictures available on my website.

**I apologize for the delays with this story. I did not feel well enough to write. Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading and caring! If you get a chance please leave a review, it energizes the muse.

Chapter 26

**A Ghost Relocates**

_Gaston Durand recalls his first meeting with Erik._

**1863**

"It was early evening in the spring, so my young son and I were encumbered by heavy coats, gloves, and other such cold weather paraphernalia. We strolled down the Rue Scribe on the way to meet my wife. We walked past a small sign where it was said that one day a great opera house would stand. At the time, it was a construction site like so many others around Paris. It didn't look like much. The workers had gone home and left a bit of a mess behind. Yet in the air I could sense movement. I looked around and saw nothing. Police work is in my blood.

My sweet Annette had had such problems with the delivery of our son that I lived in terror of another pregnancy. Yet, I cursed myself, because I was unable to keep away from her. Jean would be four-years old tomorrow. After spending the day shopping for him, we were to meet my wife for a late supper at the bistro across the boulevard. My little son was still too young to realize that the packages I carried were for him. I hoisted them and prepared to cross the street with him.

"Hold on to my pocket," I told my boy. The packages made holding his hand impossible. I could barely see ahead of me.

"All right, Papa."

I felt a nudge at my side indicating my boy was holding on to me. "Come on."

"Mamma!"

I saw my wife wave and smile. She was so beautiful. I smiled back and continued across the avenue halting slightly to allow an oncoming carriage to cross in front of me. Annette's smile froze and began to change into a grimace. I wondered at this, simultaneously hearing her shout while a shadow passed me and flew toward the carriage. A confusion of bodies, horses' hoofs, and screams paralyzed me. When the carriage had passed, the muddle unfolded to reveal my young son. I dropped the packages, my knees buckling. In the rest of the jumble, there was a man. He was well-dressed in a dark outfit. Jean's savior stretched to his full, considerable height and dusted himself off. Annette rushed to Jean and held him in her arms. I saw the figure walk back to the middle of the street as if looking for something. The coach driver approached him, making apologies. I saw the driver pale as he got near to our savior and back away without uttering another word. Our angel of mercy kept his back to me, and I approached him with my hand outstretched.

"Sir, are you all right? I have no way to thank you, please allow me to shake your hand." The hand I held out still trembled from the incident.

The figure slowly turned, to show me the most gruesome visage I had ever seen. Please, remember I had only been in the police force a few years, I had not seen all I have seen now. My blood ran cold, and my hand dropped. But I could not take my eyes off that face. My first thought was that the carriage had damaged him. The man must have been used to this reaction because he laughed. I have never again heard a laugh like that. It wasn't evil, but in my mind it conjured up the thought that I was under his command. He had issued no command, but I yearned to obey him. Out of instinct, I made the sign of the cross and felt my body slump. I was sure death himself had saved my son and would now take me. Annette, embracing our Jean, called out a thank you to the stranger. I feared that he would turn toward them. He did not turn but kept his eyes trained on me. He broke eye contact, looked around on the ground once more, and broke into a run. So swift was he that he was swallowed up by the shadows of the building site in front of us within a breath.

Before I reached my wife's side, I stumbled across a torn black object. I picked it up and, after a quick inspection, found it to be a badly torn leather mask. I still have it. I spent years going back to the site to see if I could find and apologize to the deformed angel that had crossed our paths, but I never found him. Whenever I went by the Opera House, I remembered him, wondering if he still lived. I have had years to regret my reaction to him. The man gave my son to me, as surely as God did on the day of his birth.

Years later, a few unpleasant incidents brought me into the building to investigate. The descriptions given of the perpetrator sounded just like my savior angel. I figured he frequented the place and since people assume that ugly must be bad, he was blamed for everything. I am pleased to find that indeed my assumptions were correct, for I have found that he is a happily married man with a devoted wife. I have two grandchildren that I tell stories to on my knee; it is thanks to your husband that I can do so. My Annette left us not long after the incident, losing the fight with a bout of influenza. I would have nothing now but for our phantom. Before she left me, Annette and I often discussed the blessed apparition that saved our little Jean.

Those stories I heard at the Opera House were so gruesome, they cooled my blood. No man that can risk his life for an unknown child can be so evil. And now that I see how he is loved. No, Madame, Erik cannot be the man they accuse of those heinous crimes. Had he been guilty, I personally would have hanged him."

Christine had grown dangerously pale and slightly breathless. Gaston felt he had been too explicit in front of a lady and quieted.

The carriage maneuvered the Paris streets, and all too quickly, Gaston reached the end of his journey. He looked like he did not want to leave her. "I will send you word," she told him. He kissed her hand, glanced at Erik, and wished them well as he descended the carriage.

-------------------------------------------o

After leaving off Gaston, Christine felt the lurch of the coach picking up speed as it went beyond the city gates. They traveled along a smooth road for a few hours. The carriage was not ample enough for any of them to be comfortable. Christine kept her eyes on Erik most of the time but watched as the city she loved faded into the distance. She remained in the carriage, by Erik's side, mopping his brow and talking to him although he did not respond in any manner.

------------------------------------o

During their first rest stop, Eduard got out of the carriage to speak to the driver and make sure they were following the correct route. He felt responsible for Christine. Christine's preoccupation with her husband was so intense that he feared for her sanity should the masked man not survive. The least he could do was to ease her trip by taking care of the common details a woman would not know how to handle. His relationship with Meg not withstanding, he felt a sense of loyalty to his former host, which bade him to assist her as much as he could.

------------------------------------o

They had stopped in a clearing with a few trees for shade. The horses drank from a nearby brook. She prepared cheese and bread sandwiches for both herself and the two men. Christine knew the horses needed to rest, but her heart was impatient to get Erik medical attention. In the distance, she heard a low rumble. She leaned out the window to see another carriage approach in the distance. The horses' hooves lifted a light cloud of dust from the road. The setting sun was behind it as it got closer and came to a stop. She saw an ornate shield partially covering the door. _It belongs to some nobleman_. Christine thought the carriage was splendorous. The driver jumped down and Eduard spoke to him. She saw him racing back to their carriage. "They've sent this for Erik—from the Chateau! We're transferring to this carriage." She didn't understand fully, but it had to be good news. At the very least, Erik would be more comfortable.

She noticed the magnificent team of matched horses as Eduard patted them admiringly. Light brown in color, they looked elegant yet powerful, and they were itching to get back to their job. These were not pretty, leisure horses used to take a calming ride in the afternoon. They looked like a force to be reckoned with.

Erik was quickly transferred to the second carriage by the two coachmen and Eduard. A man inside introduced himself as Dr. Georges La Follette and immediately set to work on Erik.

Christine was bewildered by the arrival of the new carriage but allowed Eduard to move Erik to it. She followed and sat in the coach. She did not understand how Erik's father could manage to send such a carriage, and a doctor besides. He must be well liked by the noble family he worked for. She felt deeply indebted to her father-in-law.

The doctor was an elderly man. Christine hoped he was still competent. He put his hand on the edge of the mask and began to lift.

"No!" she called out. "He would not want that."

"Madame, I am not here to respond to the wishes of a moribund patient. I am under the Marquis' order, and I _will_ fulfill my duties."

Eduard held her back. "He has to, Christine. Let him do his job." The doctor removed the mask without even looking her way. Christine tensed, expecting him to run out or be so disturbed he would be unable to be of help. She heard Eduard's sharp intake of air. He shifted about in his seat. The doctor stared straight on at the deformed face as he continued to check Erik's vital signs. When he was almost done, he applied compresses to the swollen areas on the face and body. Christine marveled at the efficiency the older man displayed. This, coupled with her dismay at his reaction to Erik's face, made her sit quietly in a corner making herself small so she would not be in the way of this wonderful healer. She took out her rosary and continued her prayers for Erik.

The road was well maintained, but several times the carriage jumped; once she heard a groan, but she could not be certain if it came from her husband or the doctor.

La Follette cursed under his breath. She held on and sat as far back as she could. When she stuck her head out the window, a gust of cold wind hit her face. She could see two of the horses, their muscles rippling as they trotted along. Their brown fur glistened in the glimmer of light as it hit the sweat, which was literally flying off them. During their ride, Eduard explained that the carriage was being pulled by Cleveland Bays imported from England. She didn't know anything about horses but they certainly looked powerful.

The doctor snarled after another wobble.

Christine heard the comment and deepened her prayers as she allowed a single tear to run down each cheek. By nightfall, they slowed down the pace and came to a clearing for a short rest.

Eduard was now handling all the transactions. She would have been completely flustered without his help. Inside the carriage, he was quiet unless she spoke to him. He was becoming a dear friend. She was happy Meg had met such a competent and pleasant man to share her life with. She knew they had problems but hoped they would be able to solve them. Without a word to her, their things were taken down again in the dark. Her heart sank until she realized they were removed to another carriage with a fresh team of horses. That team looked as equally ready to handle their task. Erik was carefully removed from one carriage to the next.

The transfer was accomplished expertly. Eduard saw the look on her face and explained that the original coach would continue after them with their things, but after the horses had been rested. They went around a bend and soon lost sight of the other coach. This road was much smoother, and unencumbered by the additional weight of their bags, the horses efficiently recovered the time lost in the transfer.

Whenever she looked out the window, she could see vapor surrounding the horses' heads in the dark. It shimmered in the carriage lights, making it seem like a halo. They rode on into the night making one more change. Christine felt the familiar lurch, but this time the horses where swallowed by the night. The ride was so smooth it was as if the carriage was moving by magic.

At day break, a large chateau loomed in the distance. They turned onto a private road lined by trees on either side. The horses bore down toward massive, wrought-iron gates, which parted just before they passed through. The chateau seemed more impressive as they got closer. _This most be where Erik's father works._ She would do her best, so they would not be a burden to the man. He had already proven his kindness and love for his son to have made such arrangements for his safety.

The military precision was repeated as they arrived. Two huge doors flew open, and the carriage came to a stop. She heard running steps and orders being shouted.

Eduard helped her down. Erik was quickly whisked out and brought into the house followed by Dr. La Follette. _Oh, God, he is not wearing his mask, and all these people are going to see him. They will know, and they might hurt him. Money, I will offer them whatever they want to let us stay until he is well._ She was happy not to have choked Mariele with her jewelry, it would come in handy to bribe anyone who wanted to hurt him.

So many people, but she recognized one face, the man that had stayed Philippe's sword on that horrible day. She didn't have a clue as to the man's identity or why he was here, but he had helped them once, and he was in the midst of doing so again. Eduard shook hands with the man and followed the stretcher.

An elderly woman took her by the elbow and led her inside.

"He will be taken care of, my dear. Come."

"I wish to remain by my husband's side."

"You will only get in the way. Can you do more than three fine doctors and six nurses?"

"I suppose not."

"Come in here and clean up a bit. You have had a long journey."

Christine did not want to think about herself or her own comfort, but it felt wonderful to give herself over to this woman's care. She helped her remove her clothes and assisted her in the bath. Lying back in the hot water, she allowed herself to relax a little. She would be better able to care for Erik if she were not so tired. The woman helped her wash her hair and dried it for her. A few dresses were laid out for her. She wondered who had been so kind as to lend her such fine clothing. Christine chose a simple blue dress hoping her own packages would arrive soon. The woman did the final buttons on the dress for her. Christine turned to thank her but the woman had already disappeared. _I never asked her name or thanked her._

The house was huge. She had no idea where Erik was. Christine followed the noise coming from downstairs. She arrived at a corridor where she saw various people coming in and out of a room. She supposed Erik was in there. The man she had recognized before came out of the room. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his face. He looked pale and leaned against the wall as he threw back his head and sighedHis graying hair was neatly combed, but a few errant strands fell on his face. _He must have seen Erik's face, and he is overwhelmed. At least, he meant to help him._ Despite his years, he was a handsome man, tall and lean.

"Excuse me, sir. Is my husband in there? He was just brought in from the carriage outside." She hated her voice when it sounded this timid.

He shifted and looked at her in surprise. His eyes roamed her body, hair, and finally settled on her face. Christine began to feel uncomfortable and squirmed under the man's intense gaze. His eyes looked tired. _His eyes are the same color as Erik's!_

"Christ!" he murmured under his breath. The man cleared his throat and approached her. "You must be Christine! I…I'm Louis, Erik's father."


	27. Chapter 27 Return of the Prodigal Son

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my beta **Busanda** for a great job! **Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it shakes and moves the muse.

Chapter 27

**Return of the Prodigal Son**

_Erik's father?_ She reeled in surprise. Christine eyed him, her eyes intent on his face. _Not a blemish!_ He was not overwhelmingly beautiful as an older Raoul would indubitably be; he had attractive, rugged features. _Perfect rugged features. _ She also noticed his rumpled clothes. They were of fine quality but in awful condition. _The owners probably give him what they are done with._ She owed him so much. Later, when Erik was better, she would help mend his clothes.

"I am Christine Daaé." She stretched her hand. Louis took her hand in his lightly and, without taking his eyes off hers, barely grazed his lips over it. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt heat rise to her face. _How could I have such a reaction to Erik's father? What kind of a woman am I? It must be the exhaustion of the past few days or just gratitude. That's it, gratitude._ She found him incredibly attractive! This was not the withered, old man she had been expecting.

She saw the man's mouth move, but she was so deep in her thoughts that she missed what he had said. Her eyes lingered at the tanned skin on his neck. She nodded several times and smiled, assuming that would satisfy him. She felt so distracted between her worry for Erik, the long trip, and now meeting his father. She met the honey-colored eyes, which seemed to glow with their own fire. How could he be Erik's father? He looked perhaps ten years older.

Christine snapped out of her shock. Mumbling that she had to find Erik, she moved down the corridor leaving him there looking after her. _He deserves more than a quick thank you. I will leave that until after I have seen Erik._

She had seen a fleeting frown appear between the man's eyebrows. It was gone as he swiftly bowed his head to her. She dismissed it, turned, and ran down the hall toward the room she presumed Erik to be in. Behind her, she heard her father-in-law call her back. She had turned the wrong way. She giggled to herself and hurried toward Erik's room.

--------------------------------------------o

She was pretty in a delicate way, Louis agreed. Her face was both pale and wan, perhaps from the last few days. He was disappointed to see that the glow of impending motherhood did not shine in her face. So _she was not with child yet?_ Could this skinny girl bring forth the next generation of Rouxvilles?

Louis could tell Erik's wife was both young and highly impressionable. Even a perfunctory kiss on her hand had sent her blushing. No wonder young Raoul had been confused about her reactions. He would have to handle her with kid gloves until she grew accustomed to him. He wished Erik had introduced them earlier as he had suggested, but his son's stubbornness had triumphed. There had to be some reason why Erik had chosen to hide his true identity from his wife. Did he not trust her for some reason? Now, here he was introducing himself to his daughter-in-law while his son lay nearby fighting for his life!

He had to try despite his growing uneasiness about the girl. "My son did not exaggerate when he spoke of your beauty."

"Huh?" She answered and nodded several times keeping an insipid smile on her lips.

Did she even understand his question? Erik had told him she was originally from Sweden. Does she understand French? Louis was not impressed. _She does not even use my son's last name. Daaé…obviously she thinks herself a diva after her one performance._

Louis opened his mouth to say something else to her but changed his mind.

She nodded and smiled.

"I must see Erik, please excuse me." She stared into his face again, blushed deeply, and ran down the hall in an ungainly fashion. Louis shook his head and rolled his eyes. He supposed she could be polished by the person he had in mind. After all, she did possess beauty.

The girl went in the wrong direction. He had a good mind to allow her to go off but thought Erik might somehow be comforted by her company and corrected her. She giggled. _Why?_

As for her intelligence, he had seen a better display in the local bordellos. At least they had the sense not to nod inanely at every question and statement. He hoped he was being too harsh on the girl and that she would wake up. An idiot, common chorus girl as the next marquise! How he regretted having to give the order that she was to be given the utmost respect. _I suppose she was the best my poor son could find in that vermin-infested cellar he lived in. _There was also the matter of the deformity.

Now that his son was out of that rat hole, he would have other options available to him. Perhaps, the proper mistress would solve the situation. First, Erik had to recuperate, and no expense would be spared to that aim. His son would take his rightful place beside him. He had been waiting for this moment for too long.

The last few days had been hell. First, expecting the carriage to bring his injured son to him, coupled with the unspoken fear that he might arrive dead. Then, getting more medical personnel and preparing everything to give him the best fighting chance. Everyone had been told about the deformity. Dr. La Follete had been his father's attending physician. Though the doctor was an old man now, Louis decided to send Dr. La Follette with the first carriage to begin Erik's medical treatment immediately. The intensity of the situation was wearing him down. With every moment that passed, Louis felt worse about his encounter with his daughter-in-law. Perhaps he could avoid her until Erik awoke. Better yet, he would wait until his son was on his feet and running around the place.

-----------------------------------------o

Christine sat by Erik's side. He was calm, and his breathing was deep and slow. He seemed to be asleep. She felt he would wake up at anytime, but unlike when he normally slept, he did not make his usual little faces. No wrinkled brow, raised brows, smiles, mumbles, or smirks emerged from him. If she were not familiar with his face, she would have thought him dead. Christine could not fathom how it was that the doctors, beginning with Dr. La Follette, and nurses were nonchalant about Erik's face?

She came in and pulled the sheets down uncovering Erik to the waist. She had never actually seen his body without all the layers of clothes he wore. Even in their intimate moments, he had always covered his body with as many layers as he could. After his attack, she had tended to his face. Gaston had insisted on sparing her the sight of his damaged body and had taken care of that himself.

She wasn't ready to see the figure before her, bones and joints were clearly visible just below his skin. It was not as taut as the skin on his face, and she could tell it stretched out over a thin layer of muscle. The skin itself looked withered. Whereas his face was pale with a yellowish tint, his body was a much deeper shade of yellow, almost ochre. His rib cage was clearly visible. He was little more than a skeleton. She stepped back for a moment. It's still Erik, you foolish girl. A knock on the door startled her, and she covered him up.

A younger doctor than Dr. La Follette approached her and begged to ask her a few questions on the state of her husband's health. Christine willingly complied, thinking it would help with Erik's recuperation.

"I am Dr. Gilles Zwieg. How long have you been married, Madame Rouxville?"

_Madame Rouxville? Of course, that was Erik's new name. _"Almost a year. You can just call me Christine."

"No, I cannot, Madame Rouxville." The doctor took a deep breath and asked, "Could your husband be consumptive?"

"Consumptive…no…Erik is not."

"No? Perhaps, he has anemia?"

"He never said. I don't think so." Christine did not like this man's manners. He appeared to be polite, but she felt his dislike.

"I am sure you are aware he has jaundice."

"No. He…he is like that…always."

"Did you ever take him to the doctor for any of these conditions?"

"Why would I? He is not ill. He was attacked!"

She could feel tears stinging her eyes.

From his questions, it was obvious he considered her a bad wife. Dr. Zwieg thought she had not taken proper care of Erik.

"Yes, we are taking care of his injuries, but I was concerned with the state of his general health. He needs strength to recuperate from the injuries."

When he left her alone, she embraced Erik as best she could and began to wash him, hoping this would make him feel more comfortable. She arranged his sparse hair and kissed his cracked lips tenderly. Teardrops fell from her eyes.

She was almost done when she realized his father was leaning against the doorframe looking at her. He did not say a word, but he turned on his heels and left. _I suppose he also thinks me a bad wife._

Her mind wandered to Erik's father. She pushed her physical reaction to him to the back of her mind. That fateful day with Raoul, she had thought he had to be a nobleman to dare stay Philippe's sword. It was obvious he must have some powerful man's protection to dare do that. Even here, it was evident to her that he had a powerful position. When they had first arrived, it was he who had shouted orders and organized the effort to save her husband.

The same old lady that had been kind to her earlier took her to a small parlor so she could have a light meal while the doctors returned and checked Erik's progress. As she left, she heard them talk about the possibility that he had hydrothorax and myocarditits. She had no idea what those things were, but they sounded scary. She did not want her husband to have any of the funny sounding illnesses. Christine sighed and left with the older woman. She wondered about Eduard. She had not seen him for hours.

--------------------------------------o

Louis sat with a cognac in his hand. His legs stretched out in front of him. His clothes were in disarray and rumpled, he had not had the inclination to change. He had not slept since the news came of Erik's attack. _Perhaps I judged this girl too quickly. She obviously loves him. _Louis felt tired, tired as if he had not rested in months. For all his deformities, his son had a woman who loved him and whom he loved. Louis' marriage had been as fructuous as Analise's womb. And now in his later years, what did he have, a woman or two whom he visited monthly to relieve his manly frustrations—not even a proper mistress?

He no longer enjoyed drinking himself into oblivion or getting into scrapes over a card game or worthless women. Nor did he enjoy looking under every skirt that passed him. Discrimination had never been his fault. His godson, Philippe, had been his companion in many of these escapades. As the young comte's godfather, he had taken him to the finest bordellos in France, but not once did he take him to church.Louis was ready for a more fulfilling life. He would enjoy having his son with him. He had been deprived of seeing Erik grow up, but he would have grandchildren.

--------------------------------------o

On her way to see Erik, Christine heard a yelp coming from his room. She rushed in only to find a red-faced Dr. Zwieg, eyes popping out, frantically trying to get a bony claw away from his throat.

"Erik!" She rushed to his bedside. "Erik, let go. Please, he is not going to hurt you," she pleaded. Erik released his hold, and the doctor staggered back until he found a seat. He massaged his throat as he eyed his patient in fear.

"I was only trying to take his temperature," the doctor croaked defensively.

"Not like that!" Erik rasped. His voice was low but no less menacing.

"Erik, you're awake!" She knelt in front of him, kissing his hands.

"Obviously, since I am talking to you," he whispered. His amber eyes shone with tenderness. They remained like that, eyes locked, she kissing his hands and forehead. She stroked his damp hair, looking into his eyes. He lifted one bony hand to stroke her cheek.

"You are real," he said in a muffled tone.

"Erik, your father has been so wonderful. I don't know how he got carriages to you and a doctor to take care of you on the journey. We didn't even have to stop and rest the horses because…" She stopped when she noticed his eyes had slowly closed.

"He needs rest." Recuperated, Dr Zwieg stood closer to Erik.

Erik's father rushed into the room with several men she didn't know.

"He woke up and spoke to me," she said happily.

"He is definitely stronger," Dr. Zwieg added, stroking his neck again.

She saw several men congratulate the older man. They patted his back and shoulder or gave him their hand. He had a small grin on his lips.

Louis bent down toward Erik, and out of respect, Christine stepped back. Erik's eyes fluttered open. She was expecting Erik to plead with her not to leave, but his father held all his attention. She could not hear what the two said to one another. Christine saw Erik nod and Louis pat his shoulder. Leaving father and son together, she went to check on the doctor Erik had assaulted.

--------------------------------------o

"Would you care for a cup of tea, or coffee, doctor?"

"Yes, thank you." The man was still massaging his neck.

He followed her out to a small parlor.

She left him there and went to procure them tea.

"Dr. Zwieg, did you do anything to wake my husband?"

"No, I was about to check his vitals, and…well…he must have been awake."

She had to suppress a giggle.

Dr. Gilles Zwieg was the youngest of all three physicians. His accent betrayed his nationality. Swiss by birth, he had studied at the University of Lucerne before coming to Paris to work with the restructuring of sanitation practices in the city during Hausmann's tenure as prefect.

The marquis had explained Erik's deformity in detail to both doctors that remained in the house with him. Gilles Zwieg had been recommended by Dr. Moran as a man of honor. He had been sworn and had signed several documents promising never to divulge his patient's condition. In exchange, he had received a huge retainer. He had a feeling the marquis would never take him to court if he said a word about his son, preferring instead to have him hunted down and disposed of. The old aristocracy had their own way of justice.

Although he had been prepared as he waited for his mysterious patient's arrival, Erik's face had disturbed him as no other sight ever had. Further, he found it unbelievable that a child with such a gross deformity could have been allowed to live. Yet, the man had lived long and even found a wife such as Christine. His reaction to treatment this morning had been violent. It did not surprise Dr. Zwieg that his patient would react as an animal. In truth, he was little more than that. Had he belonged to another class, he would have been institutionalized or disposed of long ago. Under his father's watchful eyes, he would thrive and even procreate. Dr. Zwieg shuddered at the thought. This all went against the laws of God and nature.

---------------------------------------oo

AN: I hope you can understand Louis in this chapter and in future. He is what he was brought up to be; a nobleman.


	28. Chapter 28 Unmasked

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay in updates. Busanda did her job and I had to go back to the drawing board with some parts of the chapter. Trust me it is a better chapter. Enjoy! Thank you **Busanda**.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it shakes and moves the muse.

**Unmasked! **

Chapter 28

"My mask!" he screeched.

Christine startled awake. She had fallen asleep sitting by his side last night. Her head was still on his pillow, her arm surrounding his waist.

She looked up to see Erik's hand spread over his face. A pair of wild eyes peered at her through his long, bony fingers. "My mask!" he growled this time.

"Erik, wait!"

"I want my mask now!" he rasped desperately. He tried sitting up and groaned falling back onto the pillows.

"Erik, the doctors wanted you as comfortable as possible that is why it's not on. Please calm down. At any rate, we are alone."

"Get my mask. Find…it…now!" he growled, grinding out each word. His other hand grabbed her wrist tightly. "Damn you, woman. Get me my mask!"

She winced as he dug his fingers into her. She looked at his naked face; between his splayed fingers, she could see the visible veins on his face pulsing and engorging with blood every time he yelled.

"Stop yelling, you'll hurt yourself. Why are you so upset? You did not mind yesterday."

She used her free hand to caress his hair before he jerked his head away.

"I don't know what you are talking about. I…just find my mask."

"What is going on here?" Louis asked, as he pushed through the door. He still looked scruffy this morning. She was glad to see him. Christine noted that his eyes went to the wrist Erik had in his grasp. _Did he just frown?_

Erik let her go, and she massaged the sore wrist. "Good morning, sir." She nodded to her father-in-law. "Erik wants…"

"Good morning, Christi…"

"I want my mask this instant. Where is it?" Erik interrupted.

"Nonsense!" Louis blared in masculine resonance. "This is your home, and you will not wear a mask in here."

Erik's eyes deepened and blazed. He turned toward Christine and kept his eyes trained on her. "Christine, go find my mask right now."

"If you want your mask, get up and find it yourself. Your wife is going to have breakfast with me." He turned from Erik and, putting his hand on Christine's elbow, allowed Christine to pass ahead of him as they exited the room.

"How dare you interfere…?" Erik turned his head toward Louis. Again, he tried to sit up and fell back groaning and out of breath. He held on to his middle with one hand.

Louis turned, looked at Erik prostrate on the bed, and without another word, closed the door behind them.

"Come, dear," he said to Christine in a conspiratorial tone. "Let us both go and freshen up, then we…"

"Christine! Get back in here." Erik's voice filtered through the door.

"Perhaps, I should…?" Her eyes stole to the door. Christine wondered if she would be the one to pay for his father's audacity.

Louis led her away, his hand still directing her. "Absolutely not! My son needs to learn restraint…among other things." He smiled down on her. "I will wait for you in the breakfast room after we have freshened up."

"Christine!" She noted that from a distance, and with his father by her side, Erik's voice sounded much less menacing to her.

Louis and Christine continued down the long hall. He signaled the nurses and Dr. La Follette to go into Erik's room. Dr. La Follette rolled his eyes, and Louis smirked.

They separated at the stairs, each going to their respective rooms. Christine looked after Louis as he disappeared around a corner. Still wide-eyed and in awe of what he had just done, she ran to her room, closed the door behind her, and pressed her back into it. Her legs trembled. She had never seen anyone stand up to Erik and win.

------------------------------------------------o

After a good bath, Louis would feel refreshed. From Erik's manner and level of rudeness that morning, he could see that his son would be fine, in time. Louis lay back and relaxed a little in the tub. His mind wandered on to Christine; he wondered if Erik had told her about their family yet. She was either taking the whole thing in stride and was much more sophisticated than he had perceived or she was oblivious which was what he suspected. He would test those waters during breakfast. Breakfast! _I'm meeting her for breakfast_. He jumped out of the tub, and Louis allowed his valet to help him dry and dress quickly. He had not made up his mind about her. The girl intrigued him. She was obviously devoted to Erik. But would she be able to handle the duties that awaited her as his son's wife?

-----------------------------------------------o

Christine would sit to Louis' left, Eduard in front of her to his right. He noticed that she discretely took in their attire. Louis wore a beautiful, powder blue coat with white embroidery. A softly bowed cravat lay snugly around his neck. His long legs were sheathed in soft leather boots. Louis' slightly graying hair was neatly combed back. For the first time in days, he was clean-shaven. He could also tell she was impressed by the spread at the table. Her eyes wandered over the exotic fruits, the meats, cheeses, jams, and several types of bread. She pressed her lips together, perhaps to keep from licking them? He was glad to have asked for a light breakfast. Her eyes then fell on Eduard, and she smiled warmly. He wore his own suit, but Louis had loaned him fresh shirts and underpinnings. He too looked refreshed.

They stood and waited for her to sit down. The footman helped her with her chair. She opened her napkin, and they began their first actual meal in days. Louis was surprised to see she did not hesitate when choosing her cutlery. Her table manners were impeccable. _Perhaps there is hope. _Though he knew it to be trivial at best, table manners were very important to him. As a child, he had been sent from the dinner table for so much as looking toward the wrong utensil.

It was obvious his son had her cowed. If she was going to be in the family and mistress of this household, she had to have a certain amount of self-confidence. Running after Erik's every whim would not do. Erik also had many lessons to learn.

"Well, Christine, what did Erik tell you about me?" He took a small bite from his baguette and grimaced, too hard. He piled on more jam.

"About you?" She wiped her mouth and continued talking. "He mentioned that you had been looking for him for many years. And that you gave him your name."

"Is that all?"

Eduard's eyes stayed glued to his plate. He remained quiet and filled up on the meats. Louis was glad to have informed the young comte of the situation. He would not betray him. Louis had known Eduard's family for years. His father had wasted much of their fortune paying off gambling debts.

"I believe so, sir." She looked up from her cup. "Erik can be very mysterious."

"Please, do not address me so formally while in private…or you will make me feel ancient…Louis will do." He had considered what she should call him. "Papa" would not do. A rogue smile escaped his lips, just "Louis" shouldn't do either, but that was what he wanted.

"As you wish…Louis."

He allowed her to eat without further questions. She tucked into her breakfast, tasting a little of everything. He picked at the fruits and had another baguette with peach jam and cheese. With their final cup of coffee, he again proded.

"Did Erik ever mention our family background?"

"No." She raised her fresh face to give him a wide smile. "I wondered if…may I… ask a question?"

"Of course, ask what you wish." He was beginning to see his son's fascination with the girl. Her innocence was captivating, and the sweet expression in her large doe eyes fascinated _him_.

"What…what exactly is your job here? Are you the administrator?"

Eduard choked a little. He covered it up by taking another sip of coffee. "Pardon me. It's hot." Christine seemed to take no notice.

"What makes you think that?" Louis inquired.

"You seem to give orders to everyone, and if the marquis…what is his name?"

"The Marquis du Bourg-Denis."

"Yes, him. If he is not here…"

"He isn't?"

Louis noticed Eduard's eyes flew from one to the other. His face was flushed, and he looked uncomfortable. He hoped the younger man would not give his game away unwittingly. Perhaps it was a bit cruel to bait her so, but he was enjoying himself.

"He is?" Her eyes grew wide. She looked as if she had committed a grave error. "Oh, how rude of me. I did not recognize him or greet him or thank him for his hospitality or…"

"I don't think all that will be necessary," he laughed. "I am certain that by now, he is aware of your feelings." He was beginning to have fun with this now.

"Do you think so, sir…pardon. Do you think so, Louis?"

"I have no doubt."

"I also wished to thank you for sending all those carriages and the doctor. It saved my Erik's life, I'm sure." She looked down to her hands and wrung them a little "I never thanked you either Eduard. What would I have done without you?"

"I was my pleasure and obligation, Christine. I feel I have a friend in Erik."

A footman entered and walked to Louis' side with a folded piece of paper on a small silver tray. "Pardon me, my lord. A message."

"Forgive me, Christine, Eduard. It is a business matter I must attend to. I will see you both for tea?" He pocketed the unopened note and bowed, leaving with the footman just behind.

--------------------------------------------------o

Erik's suffering began now that he was no longer in a deep sleep. He shifted in bed and hissed as he lost control for a moment in front of the doctor. Every inch of his body ached, his middle burned, and his head throbbed.

He was still angry with his father for interfering with his commands to Christine. Erik was beyond furious with her for daring to disobey him and indignant because she had done so in front of someone else.

It was an unfounded feeling, but he felt he could trust Dr. La Follette. His father had confided that the old doctor had been Erik's grandfather's physician. It made sense now why he was so nonchalant about his face. The old doctor treated him as a man. He had never been unmasked in front of strangers, and they just floated about him performing their duties as if everything were ordinary. His pride would not let him complain. Dr. La Follette took one look at him and ordered one of the nurses to inject him with something. Erik didn't ask what it was, but he prayed it would be something strong.

As the medicine went into his system, he wished his wife were by his side. He wanted the morning kiss that only Christine would give him. He had missed it that morning. It saddened him to be in the room with complete strangers. The nurses walked about in the room conscientiously performing their duties. They spoke about him, but no one talked to him. Not that he wanted to enter into any communication with any of them, but it annoyed him that they treated him as if he were incapable of thought and speech. There were no caresses, no one tucked his sheets around him, or plumped up his pillow. His father had been right to take her away. He did not deserve to have that rare flower, and now that he was deprived of her fragrance, he regretted his treatment of her. _Damn my temper!_

-------------------------------------------------------o

Dr. La Follette explained her husband's situation to Christine. Erik's shoulder had been badly dislocated, but his arm was not broken. His left wrist, however, had been sprained. One rib was broken, and two of the lower ribs were bruised. His face had been pummeled, and a cheekbone had a partial fracture. Throughout his body, there were painful but inconsequential bruises. Although he would be in much pain and discomfort for a while, there was no injury that would not heal in time. Christine suddenly felt weary. She thought she would want to sing and dance upon hearing that Erik would be well, but all she could think of was lying next to him and sleeping. She entered his room warily so she could give him the news.

"Erik, are you awake?" She heard a grunt and continued. "You're going to be alright. I just spoke to Dr. La Follette."

"Hmm. I thought you had forgotten me." He looked away from her.

"Our things arrived, and I was laying them out."

"I see," he sighed. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said. "Are you pouting my love?" Her hand gently caressed his head.

"No, but…I was thinking that, perhaps, I was inconsiderate this morning." His eyes, deep in their sockets, were unfathomable.

"I would not have left, but your father…"

"Removed you from the clutches of the monster." He looked into her eyes briefly. "Do you forgive your little husband?"

Without a word, she kissed his forehead.

"I would like my wife to lie next to me."

"I don't think I should. I could hurt you."

However, she lay down carefully next to her husband, one arm around his waist. A crooked smile highlighted his hideous features just before she planted a kiss on his cracked lips. She loved to see the glow in his eyes whenever she gave him an unexpected kiss. He looked like a naughty boy stealing an apple.

--------------------------------------------------------------------o

Next morning, Dr. La Follette explained to Louis that Erik's condition was improving, and so he would leave Dr. Zwieg in charge and return in a week to check on his patient. Dr. Moran and his nurse left as well since it was obvious that the marquis' son would not need surgery. The room that had been prepared for surgery was dismantled. Two full-time nurses remained behind to assist with Erik's care.

-------------------------------------------------------------------o

Dr. Zwieg made himself at home in the large house. He occupied a large room full of fine furniture. Maid service was provided throughout the day and night. Dr. Zwieg walked the bloomless gardens and entertained himself by imagining he owned such a place. He did not truly believe this could ever happen, but in his dreary day, it was fun to daydream a little.

His father had been a railway worker, and it was thanks to his godfather, a wealthy merchant and friend of Albert Escher, that he had made it to where he had. His position in life had improved beyond his own dreams or his parents hopes. Of course, he never told anyone of his father's miserable job, laying down track, mile after mile, until his mind was numbed and his back worn out. Nor did he mention his mother's employment as a maid in Herr Escher's household. He kept that to himself, as he kept the fact that he had never sent home money after he was employed as a doctor. Why spoil them? His mother was used to scrubbing floors; even now in her sixties, she could get a good shine out of almost any floor. She still sent him a portion of her meager earnings; he did not need it, it was nothing to him, but he took it to make her feel she was important. He congratulated himself on his kindness as a son. His patient was lucky; everything had always been handed to him on a silver platter. As ugly as he was, he was adored. He did not have to bear the shame of two pathetically ignorant parents.

---------------------------------------------------------------o

She knew he was in pain when he would pull away from a touch or a slight hiss would pass his lips. Erik was asleep. She lay next to him with his head on her shoulder. He snored softly, moaning every time he moved. She tightened her hold on him, and he calmed, smiling into her neck.

A young maid entered the room, and with a slight curtsy and a blush, she asked softly, "Excuse me, my lady. I was sent to ask if my lord needed anything."

"My husband sleeps now. He is not in need of anything," she said, getting off the bed and sitting on a plush chair by his bedside.

"Is there anything my lady needs?"

"I am fine. What is your name?"

The girl's blush deepened. "I am Teodora. But…they call me Teo." The girl curtsied again and turned on her heels.

Christine thought her pretty in an exotic way. She did not look French but she could not place her in another country either.

Christine had noticed before that almost everyone addressed Erik as "my lord." _How strange they are here. _She, herself, had been addressed as "my lady." She would have to ask Erik about this custom when he woke up. She did not want to make a social gaffe and address anyone the wrong way. She would also ask him about his father's position in the house. Since they were interrupted during their meal, he never got to answer her question. That morning, during breakfast, she had been grateful for Erik's insistence that they make etiquette a priority in her studies. She had hated it at the time, but it was certainly paying off now. Her father-in-law had wonderful manners, and she wanted to impress him with her own. She was certain she had. Christine tucked his sheet and blanket in, Erik stirred and opened his eyes.

----------------------------------------------------------o

The first thing Erik saw when he opened his eyes was his wife. _As it should be._ She had forgiven his outburst. The overall body ache was still there; his ribs bothered him the most. Despite this, even though he couldn't move, he felt much better.

"How do you feel my love?" she asked.

He gave her a grunt for an answer.

She plumped up his pillow and gave him a drink of water.

"Erik, I was wondering…what your father does here? His job, I mean. I thought he might be an administrator…but then…" She stopped, letting her confusion show fully.

"Christine, there is no confusion. My father does work here, but because he chooses to…"

"I never said he was forced!"

"You are interrupting me!" He frowned.

"Forgive me, my lord." She giggled at her own joke. "Why does everyone call you that?"

"May I remind you that I was speaking?" He hated to be interrupted.

"Yes, grumpy," she said under her breath.

He continued. "Ah, well to make it short. He works here because he owns these lands. All these lands and the house." He saw her eyes grow wider with each word. Her smile dropped, and she let her mouth hang open_. I should have done this while we were home under the Opera House._ If she passed out, he could not catch her.

"Sit down, Christine." She obeyed immediately, her eyes open like saucers. He saw her lips quiver slightly.

He sighed deeply and decided to get it over with, his head was throbbing again. "I am the marquis' bastard son." She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, oh, oh, Erik. Oh, Erik!" She was decidedly pale and crushed his hand in hers, but she did not faint. His Christine was not the fainting type.

----------------------------------------------------------------------o

As he strolled toward Erik's room, Gilles Zwieg picked a flower from a vase in the hallway. As he entered, he heard the tail end of a conversation. The thing was talking to his wife—"_I am the marquis' bastard son,_" an interesting piece of information. He had heard that the monster was a legitimate son from the marquis' marriage. So, the marquis was trying to pass off his illegitimate son as a true heir. They might try, but this was a piece of information he might just profit from.

Dr. Zwieg handed the flower to Christine as he walked towards his patient's bed. He was glad not to have been born a woman. This poor girl had obviously sold herself to a repulsive monster to attain a higher position. But then, women's options in life were always less, he mused. She had made it far by using her charms, and she had many charms indeed.

Now, he was in charge of the hideous thing's care. He would be careful in his ministrations, making sure he stretched his pleasant stay in this little paradise as long as possible. Who knew, perhaps Madame Rouxville was in need of a real man to satisfy her other than financial needs. She must be starved for a man's touch. The thing loved her so much that, in all probability, he did not impose himself too often on his wife. The Rouxville estate had so much land and so many buildings he was sure that he and Madame could make arrangements to enjoy each other. That would make his stay here even more savory. Gilles Zwieg knew he would have to be careful because the marquis did not appear to be anyone's fool. If he suspected his son was being cuckolded, there would be consequences.

------------------------------------------------------------------o

Erik still could not believe that he was lying there, in the open, without a mask, and everyone around him acted as if he were normal. It was only when Dr. Zwieg looked at him and averted his eyes quickly or winced, almost imperceptibly as he faced him, that Erik was reminded of his repugnant features. The doctor always looked ill when he looked at his face. Once or twice, he had come into the room and left abruptly with no explanation, only to return sweaty and pale. In a way, Erik was grateful to the doctor, or he would have forgotten who he was.

He was shocked when the doctor walked into his room and handed his wife a flower in his presence. The usual anger surfaced, and he snatched the blossom from her hands. He kept his eyes on Dr. Zwieg as his long fingers wrapped around the flower and crushed it into an unrecognizable shape.

"Erik, you did not have to do that," she said, putting her hand over his extended forearm.

"No man gives flowers to my wife," he uttered in a low growl. He threw the destroyed blossom to the floor.

"It means nothing to me," she said, trying to douse the flames in his eyes.

"Indeed sir, I did not mean to offend," he said in an exaggerated manner. "It was an innocent gesture. I would not wish to upset my patient," Dr. Zwieg drawled.

Erik did not respond. His contact with the world may have been limited, but he knew full well that no man gives a woman a flower without a meaning attached to it. Right now, he could do nothing else, but as soon as he was on his feet, he would give Dr. Zwieg reason not to give his Christine anything ever again. Erik had disliked the man since he had tried to deprive him of his dignity when at his weakest point. _He has now earned Erik's hatred. _

"So how are you feeling today? Did your wife tell you that Dr. La Follette left you in my care for a few days?" Dr. Zwieg smiled amply.

A sense of dread washed over Erik. A groan escaped his lips as he adjusted his posture to get a better look at Dr. Zwieg.

"Your discomfort must be great. I'm sorry about that," Dr. Zwieg said, smiling. "Let me look at Dr. La Follette's notes." He quickly leafed thru a notebook. "Ah yes, you are due for your medication." He turned away from Erik and called to one of the nurses. "Nurse, if you will assist me."

He would be under this man's care. Erik felt even more helpless than he had felt when his home had been invaded.

"Christine, I don't want this man touching me. I do not trust him," Erik whispered to her.

"Let the doctor take care of you, my love. I want to see you grow strong again. Please?"

She cupped his face and kissed his forehead, and before he had an opportunity to recover from her contact, he felt the prick of a needle in his arm. The cool liquid entered his body swiftly. He looked up to see Dr. Zwieg smile at him through narrowed eyes. A few seconds later, he saw the doctor switch his gaze over to Christine and scan her figure. _No!_ His focus failed him. His eyes fluttered as he tried to fight the effects of the medication. Against his will his body relaxed. A light fog enveloped his mind. His arms stilled by his sides, too heavyto lift. His body inevitably sank into the bed. He opened his mouth and a dead tongue moved within it.

"Christine…" Erik cried as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and slid shut.

**------------------------------------------------------------------oo**

Alfred Escher from Zurich, one of the most influential 19th century railway barons in Switzerland.

Yes, I am aware of the1800's 'bastard' laws in France. Reality will be weaved into the story—in good time.


	29. Chapter 29 Warnings

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Anything that has to do with horses and their care is due to information researched by Busanda. I totally rely on her expertise in this area. To complicate matters the information has to be for the correct time period. Thank you Busanda for all your help in bringing the essential touch of reality.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it shakes and wakes up the muse.

**Warnings**

Chapter 29

He hated these people fluttering around him constantly; they always dressed in white like floating clouds. It seemed as if he did no more than open his eyes than that doctor or a nurse administered something. His eyes fluttered open._ My wife? _A woman in a white uniform came near, perhaps a nurse?

"My wife, where is she?" he sounded hoarse. Erik tried to pick up his head from the pillow, but it felt heavy.

"You're fine, my lord."

"If you insist," he rasped coldly. "But…where is she?" He looked around the room; sleep still clouded his vision as he tried to focus. Two, perhaps three people dressed in white stood a short distance from him, but no Christine. He wanted his wife not all these useless props. He felt a sharp pain in his middle and bit into his cracked lip. He breathed deeply but did not cry out.

"You, standing there, go find my wife." Erik commanded one of the nurses. The doctor that had eyed his wife walked to his bedside. He waited until the man was close enough; his arm shot out toward him but only managed to claw at the doctor's lapel. He felt a quick prick in his arm, and the room began to fog over again, the doctor's grin fading from view.

It felt good to feel no pain. No pain, no dreams. He relaxed. _Christine!_ She was there saying something—beautiful as ever. _My wife!_ "I love you." Had he said that or had she? She was smiling at him; he would smile back, if only he could see her face clearly. He had to tell her, warn her…of what? It would come back to him. He sighed and relished the feel of her touch. He liked her touches, her hand, soft and cool against his flesh. His eyes fluttered not quite open with heavy lids. That doctor…that doctor behind her always. His hands grabbed and crushed the sheet covering him. The doctor hovered over her. He did not like that. _Warn her!_ It was wrong. _Go away!_ She frowned. Why? _Oh no, not you, my love._ His eyes remained half opened, unfocused, he dared not let them know he was still awake, or they would give him more of the drug. _What good are you? Warn her!_

"He…stay…away…"

"What, Erik?" Christine asked concerned. "What did he mean?"

"It's nothing. That medication takes away the pain, but it makes them talk nonsense," Dr. Zwieg said, standing behind her.

"Erik _never_ talks nonsense," she retorted.

Dr. Zwieg's hand caressed the back of Christine's chair. "Perhaps he was dreaming. " He bent down toward her, his lips close to her ear. "Join me for a cup of coffee?"

_Christine! My Lasso!_

"You can pour me a cup if you wish, but I'll have mine by my husband's side."

Erik sighed; he unclenched his fist letting the sheet go. _Good girl!_ His weighted head sank into the pillow, welcoming the soft fog.

---------------------------------------------------o

Teo made up her mistress's bed. She loved her new assignment, being in the big house. It was her first assignment there. Her new mistress was not much older than she was. She was a beautiful, refined young girl with a sick husband. She was always polite to Teo. Her mistress was neat as well; most of her things were folded and put away. There wasn't much to do in her mistress's room. Her husband's face was terrible, although she suspected that wasn't why he was being treated. They said he looked like his grandfather. Teo did not like to look at his unfortunate face, but she knew it wasn't the man's fault and she felt guilty for avoiding it. He must have led a difficult life away from his father. At least now, he had been found, and he would be protected within the estate. She thought it was romantic the way her mistress was devoted to her husband. She had to force herself to look at him and get used to his face. She did not want to hurt his feelings. Besides, the master's instructions to his staff had been explicit, and she knew he could be harsh when disobeyed.

Teo felt complimented to have been chosen by a man as important as the master to be his future mistress. Teodora was still a virgin, and she knew the master was saving her for himself. Her pale, long hair surrounded an angelic face; her lips were plump and untouched. The master's honey-colored eyes would one day see her fruits. She would go to him intact. She never indulged in horseback riding or any other activity that could compromise her status.

Teo had been allowed small privileges, such as lighter duties than the other servants. She was taught to read and had been instructed in proper manners so that she would be able to sit at a table with him. One day, she hoped he might even take her to a café in Paris! Her family enjoyed his favor as well; her father was a stable hand for the master's thoroughbreds, and her mother was allowed to stay in their cottage and care for her own household. Her destiny had been changed from a life as a chattel maid or field worker by the master's interest. If Teo were called upon to do so, she would bear his children. Although their bastard state would prohibit them from acquiring a title, financially, they would be well cared for.

---------------------------------------------------o

"Do you really need to keep him drugged all the time?" she questioned Dr. Zwieg.

"It is obvious, Madame Rouxville, that you are not completely aware of the serious state of your husband's injuries. You would prefer he were in pain?" He pressed on Erik's ribs, eliciting a long, low moan from the sleeping man. She lurched forward slightly as if to aid her husband. Dr. Zwieg released the pressure and continued, "With all those injuries, his body needs total rest. Madame, you are very brave for him." His voice dripped in sarcasm.

"Oh, I do not wish for him to be in pain, but…" She looked away, tears brimming in her eyes. How dare she argue with a doctor about what medical treatment was correct or not?

"Is there a particular medication you would recommend?" His steely eyes met hers until she looked down. "If what you miss is your husband's…company, then, if you do not mind, I could share a walk with you in the gardens this afternoon. Not much to see though at this time of year," the doctor said flippantly.

"Even if asleep, his company is all I seek," she responded.

Her obstinacy annoyed and excited him. An orange that was hard to peel was sweeter in the end.

"You really should get out more, Madame; it is not healthy for you to be cooped up all the time." He picked up Dr. La Follette's notebook and appeared to be more interested in the contents than in their conversation. He looked up as if surprised that she was still there. Dr. Zwieg shrugged. "I would be happy to accompany you…"

"You would, I would not," she retorted, sitting by Erik's side again. Christine turned from him to stroke Erik's side gently where he had just been prodded.

Dr. Zwieg slammed Dr. La Follette's notebook onto a small table.

"Eventually, you will tire of speaking to a comatose man."

"Drugged, not comatose," she corrected him.

He felt the heat racing to his face, and he moved away from her. How dare this little chorus girl turned high-priced whore correct him? Had she ever done anything of value in her life? He had saved dozens of patients' lives, whether that life was worth saving or not. He had done his job. He was valuable to society. A good spanking at his knee might warm her up to him. The thought brought up even more heat to his face as he lingered on the thought of Christine across his knees, her pantalets wrapped around her ankles, his own hand an instrument of chastisement. He left her without another word and hurried to his room.

---------------------------------------------------------o

Christine disliked the man. She disliked his close-cropped hair, as well as his reddened lips hiding under an overly waxed mustache. She hated his cold, blue eyes, so different from Erik's warm, golden orbs. Mostly, she did not trust him.

She was uncomfortable seeing Erik like this. Every time he woke up, they injected him. He would either fall sleep immediately, or he would utter incomprehensible phrases and stare at her with glazed eyes. Nor did she want to see him suffer. Dr La Follette had explained to her how important rest was to his recuperation. But had he meant to have him like this? Perhaps, in a few days, Dr. Zwieg would allow him more time without the drugs. It made her nervous to see Erik like that. If it continued, she would find Erik's father and speak to him. _The marquis!_ She did not want to think about all that other business now.

She went back to her room to freshen up for dinner. Christine had no idea how to approach Erik's father now. Should she call him by his title, or should she continue to call him Louis as he had instructed her to do. Erik couldn't help her as he always did. After debating for a while, she decided to continue to address him as Louis had asked her to do. She was not, after all, under his employ, but his son's wife.

They were having a simple meal that night of cold goose and salad. The bread was freshly baked. She took a small hot loaf on her plate and spread it lavishly with butter.

For the first time in days, Christine had seconds. She wondered if it was polite to do so. She so needed Erik's advice on all these matters.

They ate figs dipped in honey for dessert with a glass of wine.

At the end of the meal, after her last plate was taken away, she met her father-in-law's eyes. It always disturbed her to see Erik's eyes on this handsome face. Although the same color, Erik's eyes were always somber even during the rare times when he had joked with her. Louis's eyes were clear and mirthful.

"You are quiet tonight," Louis said.

"I am much disturbed."

"Tell me why." She saw his eyes turn grayer.

"It's probably nothing." She saw him purse his lips slightly as he grew impatient. _Just tell him, Christine, for Erik._

"Continue."

"It's Dr. Zwieg. I…his treatment method. It concerns me."

"Is Erik in pain or have you seen…"

"No." She realized she had interrupted him. Erik always reprimanded her for that. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you."

"Please, just continue."

"They inject him all the time. Whenever he opens his eyes, he looks like he wants to talk to me, then immediately the nurses are instructed to give him more medication. I am grateful that he is not in pain, but…"

"But?"

"I can't explain myself. It's a feeling more than anything else. He…Dr. Zwieg is always inviting me to spend time with him. To take walks with him. I do not want to be alone with him."

She noticed Louis's face flush almost imperceptibly. "I see. Do not let it worry you further."

She could tell by the darkening of his eyes she should stop there. She relaxed back in her seat. It felt wonderful to have this problem off her shoulders. She smiled at him gratefully. Louis would take care of the situation. Her father-in-law picked up his glass of wine carefully. _Too carefully_. His hands were tense although his face remained pleasant. He was pensive as he drank.

"Tomorrow I will send you out with Teodora. You must relax, Christine. A long walk will do you good. Eduard might accompany you."

Did he think she was making it up? That she was hysterical? Why did his voice tremble when he mentioned her maid? Was the girl a maid or a spy? She trusted that he loved his son; there could be no question of that. Therefore, she would not question him.

"I would love that, Louis."

He chuckled slightly. "Mmmm. Although you would prefer spending your time sitting next to Erik." His fingers drummed on the table. "This is off your hands now, Christine. I will take care of it."

She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him for taking care of them, but that would not be proper.

"Thank you, Louis."

--------------------------------------------------------------o

Louis had no medical knowledge, but he had known something was not right. As shy as she felt around him, Christine had approached him last night about her concerns regarding Erik's treatment. This had confirmed his suspicions. He had calmed her by taking charge of her, as if he were her husband. _She should not have these worries, it is enough she spend day and night by my son's side._ He would be in charge of Christine's well-being while Erik was incapacitated. He had no reason to dislike Dr. Zwieg, but his nose never failed him; something was amiss. Christine had provided the last bit of information he needed. He felt a little guilty, worrying more about his horses than his family. Two broodmares were poorly, they were separated from the others now, and the veterinarian was with them. His mind had to be with his family not on his horses. Erik would expect him to care for Christine as if he were there. _Espouse in absentia. _A wry smile graced his lips.

The common cider made him more money than the horses, although his thoroughbreds were well-known throughout France. His stallions were champions at both Longchamp and La Touques; but it was the common workers' daily imbibing of his cider that kept his lands flourishing and provided an income greater than Alphonse de Rothschild's. He left the worries of the orchards and their products to his administrators, so he could concentrate on his stable.

----------------------------------------o

Louis marched into Erik's room as if he carried a rainstorm with him, the clap of thunder in his voice.

"Careful, Dr. Zwieg," he warned as he approached the man. "You are in charge of my only son's care. I hold _you_ responsible for his well-being." He saw Dr. Zwieg blanch.

He did not say another word but simply chose to stare into the doctor's eyes with unmitigated dislike. The man paled even more. Louis turned on his heels and left the doctor staring after him. Louis felt, more than saw, the doctor take a seat as he left. He would send for Dr. La Follette immediately. At the moment, he had to tread very carefully. A perceived threat would keep the doctor in check; a direct threat might cause him to make a rash decision to cover his tracks. He had imagined that once Erik was under his roof his son would be safe, and now he could not guarantee that. Perhaps he and Christine were both reading too much into the situation.

Next morning, Louis woke up to a snowy countryside. Each bush, each leaf, was burdened by a white covering. From this window, he could see the stables to his left. The snarled branches of the apple trees extended beyond the press and past his sight to the right. There were workers busy all around. Two of the Arabian mares were being moved into another building. He wondered why; later, he would inquire. His valet had just tended his fire so the room was warm. He didn't bother slipping on his robe and strode toward his waiting bathtub.

The snow continued to fall, and by midday, all the roads were impassable. A soft blanket covered his lands. His message might have reached Dr. La Follette, but he would not be able to return just yet. Louis cursed his luck and watched the snowflakes descend.

------------------------------------------------oo


	30. Chapter 30 Hand in the Cookie Jar

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my beta **busanda** for her wonderful work and cooperation.

**Warning**: This Chapter contains some upsetting material, which. It is essential in order to bring out the characters. I suggest screening for It should not be read by readers under 17 years old.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it shakes and wakes up the muse.

**Hand in the Cookie Jar**

Chapter 30

Dr. Zwieg had seen her kiss the Thing on the mouth. She had voluntarily pressed her lips to his reptilian slit. His stomach turned, and he felt an involuntary heave. He ran to the nearest sink and emptied his stomach. He held on tightly to the bowl, steadied himself trying to gain control of his own body. The money he was making here was beyond his expectations. In the last week, he had earned more than he ever made in a year. It was worth it even if he had to be sick everyday when he looked in on the _aliéné._ The money aside, if he had the power, he would commit him to a hospital. God only knew what diseases this thing carried in him. He looked as if he was already rotting, and Gilles would have gladly helped him along except that would end his luxurious holiday at the Rouxville estate. The Thing's coloring was particularly repulsive. His body was the color of bile with puce splotches. No part of his anatomy looked normal. He shuddered, thinking of the horror of the face. While he was in charge, he would keep the Thing as sedated as he could. Constant low dozes of morphine kept the _aliéné_ either sleeping or disoriented enough not to cause anyone harm. The _aliéné_ had almost crushed his neck before when he woke up and had made a second, if aborted attempt to hurt him. This would not happen again. Dr. La Follette had left him in charge, and he would use his full authority to control the situation. He had to be very careful administering the medication, the _aliéné_ could not die, or his income and his stay at the Rouxville estate would cease. The _aliéné_'s father had come in and with no provocation on his part had told him to watch himself. The marquis had used a voice that left no doubt as to its implication. It made Gilles nervous and led him to keep a tighter watch on his patient's health. Nothing could happen to the _aliéné_, or he might not make it out of the estate. No, Dr. Zwieg would be ever so careful with his golden goose. By the same token, he would not allow this Thing to run amok under his watch.

Then there was Christine Rouxville, beautiful, slender, and fragile; her lips, a pubescent rose which he would pluck and suckle. He had tried to engage her in many ways over the past few days. At every attempt, she had rebuffed him. How could she not be interested? The beauty must be frustrated having to tend to the monster, but then perhaps some parts of the monster did work. A lascivious chuckle escaped him. At first, he had been grateful for the snowstorm, giving him more time to try with her before Dr. La Follette's return.

He was tired of her haughty attitude. She wasn't high born, her background was no better than his. It was obvious she thought herself the grand dame just because she had sold herself to that disgusting creature. Still, she was tempting.

"Madame Rouxville, I wish to speak to you about your husband's treatment. I know you had some questions before."

"I would, thank you. When would you like to talk doctor?"

He smiled at her acceptance. "Well, away from this room. Just in case…we would not want to upset him…if he should wake up."

"I'm at your disposal."

"I do like to hear that." He broadened his smile.

Christine lifted her eyes in thought, and with a smile she offered, "Will the library do, Dr. Zwieg? In forty minutes?"

The beauty had agreed to spend time alone with him. True, this would be inside the house, but he would have an opportunity to speak freely, to express his feelings for her. They would be able to plan other meetings in some of the remote buildings. Since she had accepted, it meant she was just as frustrated as he had imagined and she was willing to play. His mouth salivated as his body reacted to his thoughts. He rapped on the heavy oak door twice and pushed on it before she gave him permission to enter.

"Christine?"

She sat in his line of vision, smiling sweetly at him. He controlled his breathing before he approached her.

"Christine," he whispered seductively.

"Dr. Zwieg?" Louis's voice cut through the air.

"Sir?" Gilles felt his head drain of blood as the older man came into view.

"You sound surprised. Why is that?" Amber eyes looked through him.

"I…I."

"Surely, you did not expect to meet with my son's wife alone, did you?"

"Well…no…"

"And on that topic, calling my daughter-in-law by her Christian name is much too familiar, particularly for a man of your station. It will not do at all. Although, I have been generous in giving you free rein within my estate, I do expect you not to overstep the boundaries. From now on, you will not address my daughter-in-law directly. Is that understood, doctor?"

Gilles heard nothing else of the dressing down, his ears clogged with the rush of humiliation. His face, he knew, was betraying him and adding to his visible discomfort. He managed to say a few more apologetic words and back away. Once in the hallway, he ran until he got to a door. He needed fresh air. Not since his days in Zurich had he been treated like that.

He stormed from the main house to wander about the older buildings. The storm was past, but the snow remained high, so he trudged his way around. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. They were all like that, these nobles. They thought nothing of lashing a man, bringing him down, and exposing his soul for the vultures to ravage. He stumbled past busy stables. He was eyed suspiciously by a few of the workers, one who actually stopped to glare at him. This was not the first time it happened when he got too close to something of value. Strangers were not allowed close to the marquis's prized stock. He had no intention of going near their precious horses. He continued his walk, finally coming upon an old dilapidated barn that was empty except for a few chickens that had wandered in. He slumped on a bale of hay in a corner. He let the snow on his shoulders melt into his coat as his head dropped back and the tears finally flowed.

How dare they treat him like that? Why was he not invited to share meals with them? He had perhaps twice the education of anyone there. Had the Thing in all his glorious hideousness been awake, he would no doubt have had the seat of honor, despite his being a bastard. And today he had been humiliated in front of her. Had she known the marquis would be in the library? It did not matter, it was over now; he would not dare approach her again. Why did he have to call out her name as he entered? How had the world turned upside down in this forsaken corner of France? He banged his head back against the rough wood and pictured Christine lying on the hay in front of him, seductively batting her eyes and inching her skirts up to show her calves, knees, and eventually long sinewy thighs, having already removed her pantalets—her hair wild about her flushed face. What chance did he ever have with the woman? Every time he offered, she had rebuffed him as if he were tainted, except for today. Yet she kissed the Thing. He sat back against the rough wood, glad for the support. His thoughts turned to her beauty again as his hands slid down attempting to comfort him.

------------------------------------------------------------o

Teo pondered her future as the master's bedmate. She knew she would never be a wife. She also would never wonder where the next meal would come from or receive a thrashing from a drunken husband; her hands would not be calloused from working untold hours picking or pealing apples. Her life would be better than her mother's had been. If they came, her children, his children, would never know hunger. They would be educated, and as a nobleman's bastards, they would be more respected than if they were peasants born from a wholly blessed union.

The kitchen boys and farmhands as well knew to avoid her company lest rumors carry and the marquis misunderstand their intentions. He did not want her too young; she knew he never took young girls to his bed. He would come for her fruits when the time was right. The best days of her life would begin then. The marquis was known to be very generous with his women. The master was a righteous man. He never touched the young girls on his estate and swelled them up, as very often happened. His pattern was well known by the staff. He would pick one girl that caught his eye, and he would come to an agreement with her parents. The marquis enjoyed watching his future prize develop. He never touched and rarely spoke to her. On her birthday, he always sent a present to her and one to her parents. Lately, she had seen his eyes following her more often. Her eighteenth birthday had come and gone, and the master still waited and watched; still, he had not come for her. Teodora bid her time and waited. Life would offer no greater opportunity.

Teo made her way back to the house with a small parcel under her arm for madame. Her sewing skills had saved the hem of her mistress' dress. Her mistress had thanked Teo, explaining her limited wardrobe and her inability to expand it for now due to her husband's illness. Teo imagined her skills would soon be put to use on fabulous gowns.

On her way to the main house, she passed an old barn. Teo heard a rasping sound, then a familiar voice called to her.

"Come in here, girl. Quick, your mistress is ill."

The doctor who was caring for the master's son called to her. Without giving any thought to the likelihood of his claim, she turned toward the barn and peered in the doorway. Hard fingers fastened on her wrist, and she was pulled in. She fell in a heap to the ground.

He straddled her and stared at her through narrowed eyes. She was too shocked and nervous to get up immediately. He knelt next to her without saying a word.

"Where is my mistress?" His low grunt answered her question, but still her eyes roamed the small building hoping to find another explanation. His hand touched her ankle. His hand continued to slide up until it reached her knee. She felt paralyzed. No one had ever touched her like that. She mumbled something, unsure if it made sense. When she felt the doctor's hand near her sacred spot, she hit him in the nose with her knee. Dr. Zwieg fell back, but he held on to her underwear with one hand as she attempted to get away. She would not miss out on the master's favor for a two-denier doctor. He knocked her down again and brushed his fingers against her uncovered womanhood. Theo fought for her and her family's future. She bent down and impaled her nails into his face, raking them across his cheeks. This caused Gilles to let her go and yelp in agony. He held onto her pantalets, ripping them. She slipped through his fingers and ran out of the building. She ran into Hubard, a stable hand, who simply told her to go home to her folks. Desperate, in tears, Teo ran back to her parent's home. She was no longer untouched.

-------------------------------------------------------o

He had seen the girl running around the estate like a wood nymph. She was too plump for his taste, but he was bursting from wanting the _aliéné_'s woman. She was assigned as Madame Rouxville's maid, and so he saw her inside the house often. She wore no corset. A simple, stupid, farm girl—perfect for his needs.

He pulled Teo into the farm building as she passed. He threw her on the fresh hay, and as he stood over her, he took his wet coat off, throwing it on the ground. Even without having touched her, he was ready to take her right then. The expectation had nearly driven him mad.

He grabbed her ankle and inched his way up her legs. He could feel her tremble. Nice, she wasn't too used up. He shoved his hand up to her crotch. His hand traveled between her legs. "I am promised to the master. Stay away from me, please. " He ignored her words. Each centimeter, he imagined he was touching Christine—the soft creamy skin of her long, slim legs instead of this cow's plump thighs. He felt his nose explode into a thousand fragments. The young girl tried to leave again, and he grabbed her by the ankle. He ran his hand up quickly and touched her crotch. She was wearing rough cotton pantalets. He was certain Christine's would be silk. He held on to her underwear even as her assault on him continued. His face burned from contact with her nails. If only he could find the slit in the cloth, he would touch her vibrant young flesh. The garment ripped in his hand, and the girl scrambled away. This was a bad day. Even an ignorant farm girl had rejected him. Gilles made his way back to the house to tend to his face.

------------------------------------------------o

Annoyed, Louis stared at the small hand that held his sleeve. They were in a hallway leading to the breakfast room. He was not accustomed to having his employees touch him much less pull on his clothes.

"Nurse Jolline? May I help you?" he asked dryly, controlling the need to yank her fingers off.

As if reading his mind, the young girl let go of his coat. She looked away and wrung her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her forehead marked by worry.

"My lord, I…"

"Speak up. Is my son alright?" Louis was in motion, his heart skipping. His throat tightened.

"Wait, my lord…" She held on to him again. It's not that. He is fine…in a way."

"Speak then!" Her eyes opening like an owl's told him he had made a mistake.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He put a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Forgive me, my dear. As you can see, I am beside myself with worry over my son. What is troubling you?" He made his voice low and pleasant.

"It's about your son's treatment…Dr. Zwieg…he…"

He forced himself to remain calm. "Come, have a seat by me." He knelt by a small bench and patted the seat. "What about Dr. Zwieg?"

The girl sat down and leaned in toward him. She looked more confident. Louis looked into her eyes, smiled at her, and she began to talk.

---------------------------------------oo

The black carriage arrived at the main house. A few servants scrambled toward it. A servant was dispatched to let Louis know Dr. La Follette had arrived.

Walking next to Louis, Dr. La Follette scowled. "No, no, no. Those were not my orders." The doctor shook his white head vigorously. His lips pressed grimly. "I left written orders to administer morphine for pain, yes, but in the usual, careful dosage. You say he is constantly… "

Dr. La Follette was interrupted by the arrival of Nurse Jolline, looking down at her folded hands. Louis touched her elbow and brought her closer.

"Come, my dear, explain to the doctor what you explained to me this morning."

------------------------------------------o

Last night, he had just received another payment for his good services. Gilles loved growing his nest egg. "I should be getting a bonus for having to look at your ugliness everyday, you disgusting piece of slime," he murmured to his patient.

He had thrown a hand towel over Erik's face, and although he could see his patient was having difficulty breathing through the thick cloth, he did not remove it until he had finished with his apple. He bit into his apple slowly, letting his teeth sink into the soft, fleshy fruit. He chewed slowly as he watched Erik's head swing from side to side trying to get more air. Finally, he threw the core away and uncovered his patient's face, making sure to look away first.

He heard Erik mumble something. "Complaining, huh?" He struck him hard across the face. A trickle of blood flew out of Erik's mouth as his lower lip split from the blow. "Poor thing, you bit your lip," he drawled sarcastically. Dr. Zwieg looked up and just had enough time to see several figures standing by the door.

"He…he was having a convulsion," he said to them.

They all moved into the room at once. From the side, he saw the _aliéné_'s father draw his sword and lunge for him. He opened his mouth to protest. A sharp pain in his cheeks stopped him from saying a word. He felt the metal grinding against his teeth. A female screamed in the background. Gilles felt warm liquid running down his neck. He tried to give another explanation, but his mouth felt unnaturally loose, unhinged in fact. An unintelligible garble came out. He looked around him to see blood splatters everywhere. Far away, he heard a harsh voice command, "Don't let him die." His vision dimmed, and he felt himself sinking to the floor. The last thing he saw next to his head was a tongue.

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A/N: Not too disturbing I hope.

In the late 1880's the word aliéné was used to refer to the undesirable in society, which included those with contagious diseases, the mentally ill, and the deformed among others.


	31. Chapter 31 Compromise

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you **busanda **for your skills and cooperation.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it shakes and wakes up the muse and gets her going.

**Compromise**

**Chapter 31**

Louis raked his large hand through his thinning scalp. Another shudder went through him. "Damn." He had not had a violent reaction like that since he'd found Analiese with one of her 'pets'. That had been the last straw in that sham of a marriage. When Louis saw the cloth over Erik's face his vision flashed, and losing control he'd attacked the man. The sword had gone through the doctor's right cheek. It had then severed the tongue and gone out the other cheek. Rather than pull it straight back, he had swung his arm down toward the lips, creating an opening to the doctor's mouth almost from ear to ear. Louis had not returned to himself until he saw the tongue lying on the floor, blood flowing from the doctor's mouth like an overturned bucket. He'd heard himself tell someone to keep the doctor alive, and then he'd run out of the room, shoving past his distraught daughter-in-law, pushing aside one of his servants to get out the front door. He had made it to a tree and stood shaking, dry heaves convulsing his body, which did nothing to ease his disgust. He felt ashamed to show such weakness in front of his people. He could see the servant's hesitation about offering help. The boy decided to back away. Louis trembled, not from the horror he had just caused, but from the waves of rage that still coursed through him. It had not been enough; he wanted the man alive so he could quench this horrible need in him. He wondered listlessly if this was how his son felt when he killed. He did not think so; Louis had seen Erik kill that night at the de Chagny estate. Erik had remained calm as he disposed of the guard, and though he did not seem to enjoy it, the man's death had been nothing to him, nothing more than throwing a rock into a pool and watching the ripples reach toward infinity.

Dr. La Follette had given Dr. Zwieg first aid in order to prevent further blood loss. He was kept sedated for three days, while Louis sent Eduard to Rouen in order to make arrangements for the doctor's removal to the Hôpital Sainte-Lucille. Dr. Zwieg would be kept in the section of the hospital reserved for the most violent patients, Ward D for the criminally insane. He would be kept in isolation, no treatment would be attempted. The hospital director had been alerted to this man's attempt on the life of the marquis' son. A large contribution was sent to build a new ward, as well as a thank you for the director himself.

The hollow feeling at the pit of his stomach decreased, and he walked across to the window. Over two weeks had passed now, and Erik was recuperating. He had been right to protect his only son, yet a feeling of nausea overcame him when he considered his actions.

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Erik was no novice to pain. He had felt worse pain than he did now, but never had every single inch of his body hurt. If he moved his toes, it hurt his entire leg, causing a strain on his back that crawled up to his shoulders and neck.

This would not last, and every day he felt less discomfort. It was the total dependence on others that was killing him. He was unable to get up, and so all his needs had to be taken care of in that bed. He was grateful to his father for providing him with nurses and servants that would take care of his most elemental needs. If he had had to depend on Christine for that, he would have happily tied a rope around his own neck.

Although his body regained strength and his pains lessened by the day, what did remain painful was breathing. Given time, his ribs would heal. He would not tell the doctor, or they would begin another round of fussing.

Once he was able to walk, albeit with assistance, Erik's mood improved dramatically, and even the pain lessened when he took in air_. I am getting better; all I need is time…and her!_

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Christine sat reading a book by the window in Erik's room. He watched her as she flipped the pages. Her head tilted at an angle that allowed the sun to caress the ringlets on her forehead. With her head at that angle, he could access her neck and plant a kiss there. Erik flexed his stomach muscles and attempted to sit up. He felt a stitch at his side and lost his breath, though he did not slump back to the pillow.

She turned her head toward him as he drew in a ragged breath.

"How long have you been awake?" A little mock frown appeared between her brows.

"A while."

"And why didn't you let me know?" she asked, helping him sit up.

"I was busy admiring the view," he said with a slight smirk.

He saw her blush and hide her eyes.

"Come here, my shy little bud."

She plopped down on the floor by his bed, resting her chin on the mattress, looking up at him.

"You look better."

"How can you tell?"

"I'm looking at you, silly."

"I never look _better,_" he said without the usual bitterness. His index finger traced her lips. "My wife," he whispered.

It had been two weeks since he was back under Dr. La Follette's care. He was no longer in active pain, but he still felt weak. Not since after the incident with Karl had he spent so much time in a bed. He was able to walk a few feet with assistance. Most of the time, they stuffed him into an invalid's chair and pushed him about. He hated the sight of the wheeled contraption even though it helped him escape from his confinement. It screamed to the world that he was as useless as he felt.

He should be happy. For the first time in his life, he had people who loved him. He had a wife, like most men, and there was no doubt in his mind that she loved him. In truth, he could not come up with one reason why such a blessing had been bestowed on him. Despite his horrible appearance, somehow this angel of a girl had found something to love in him.

He had a father who was caring and protective, sparing no expense for his comfort. His father actually rejoiced in seeing him barefaced. No one seemed to mind seeing him without the mask. If they did, they were better actors than the one's who worked above his former home. He had everything he had ever wanted, and all he wanted to do was to paste his mask to his face and run back to his hole under the Opera House. Erik sighed and closed his eyes, allowing the gloom to wash over him.

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Hours later, Erik woke up to a headache and a foul temper. Christine entered his room and slipped into the bathroom. She eventually emerged with his tonic.

"Again with that foul tasting thing? I would be better off dead than having to taste that again."

She did not answer and stood before him with his dose, a placid smile on her lips.

Erik let her put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the tacky liquid, making a face. She rolled her eyes and went out.

"It is abominable," he said after her, knowing it would make no difference.

In a few minutes, she returned, bringing a washbasin and white rags. He growled at her as she passed by him and placed the basin on his side table.

Erik moaned when Christine lowered his covers. "Why do you insist on this business? Why? I would prefer it if you let the nurses do this," he lied.

"You are so lovable when you're all grouchy." She dipped a towel into the basin and began her self-appointed job.

Her fingers traced his all-too-apparent bones and his bruised ribs, speckled with the remains of coagulated blood under the skin. The swelling had gone down, leaving his hips jutting upward. The ribcage, visible through the thin skin, emphasized the pumping of his heart. It took all her efforts to keep his thin, yellowed body warm as she washed him.

Erik kept his eyes closed in preparation for the second ordeal. With another soft soapy towel, Christine approached Erik's face. She began to clean his face, paying special attention to his nose hole. She tenderly swabbed at the crevice. She dabbed into the holes that seemed to swallow his eyes. She then left her mouth only centimeters from his lips until he relented and kissed her, making him sigh and shudder. He continued to allow her ministrations and reveled in the possibility that she really could find him lovable…lovable!

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Teo sat on the edge of her bed. She was due back in the main house in a few minutes. After the doctor's assault, she had gone running back to the house and into her maman's arms. Teo blurted out her disgrace. Her mother checked her for injury and walked her back to the main house. Her father was called in to the discussion. They could not let it pass. Thanks to Hubard, who had gone back to the stables and given his account of the events, too many people knew. Her father agreed to let the master know. Teo was to go on as if nothing had happened.

She knew that the day the master would claim her would come without a ceremony. A present would be sent to her at her parents' home as well as a gift for them, and she would go to his bedroom that night. With this turn of events, would he even want her now?

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Christine had finally learned the name of the old woman who had smoothed her arrival during her first hours at the house. She was Doña Berta the cook. Erik's grandfather had a preference for the food from southern Spain, and so he had 'imported' her as a young girl to cook for them. Louis had grown up with her cooking. Nannies, then tutors, had come and gone, but Doña Berta had always been there.

"Doña Berta?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"You've lived in this house for a long time, yes?" After a single and unnecessary nod, Christine continued, without letting the old woman answer further, "I have a few questions. Could we sit down and talk?"

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When he first woke up from the drug-induced sleep, Erik had been surprised to have seen the old doctor in charge of his care again. When he inquired about the younger doctor, he had received evasive answers. He was aware his father had put a stop to the man, but no one was willing to give him the details he demanded. Erik decided to get answers directly from his father once he could walk under his own power.

Erik felt impotent. He wished he had been the one to have put a halt to Dr. Zwieg. Christine had saved his life twice now. His Christine, the woman he had sworn to protect, had become his protector. He didn't know how to feel about that. No one had ever protected him before. He did not know how to react to her. He was no longer providing their roof or their safety. If he died, she would be well cared for by his father. He knew he should be grateful, yet resentment grew in his heart.

"Erik, will you have dinner with us in…"

"NO!"

"I could take you…"

He glanced toward the hated chair. "I am not a damned invalid!"

"The dining room is far from here. I just wanted to help."

"Don't, Christine. Just go, have your dinner." _Enjoy their company and leave me alone. It's the way it has always been. It's what I deserve._

The look on her face made him relent. With the nurses' help, he was ensconced in the chair and wheeled down to the dining room. He refused to enter the room in the chair, and Christine helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as he made his way across to the table. It seemed an interminable distance. He was grateful that his father did not offer to help, and feeling weak and out of breath, he dropped onto a seat without his usual grace. He felt embarrassed at his lack of control. Cold sweat covered him. Erik refused to look toward Christine in case she was watching him with pity. His father remained on his feet until Christine sat.

"I see they got you out of your bed. Leave it to the ladies!" Louis chuckled.

Erik wished he had not insisted on wearing his mask. Sweat accumulated under it, making him feel even more uncomfortable.

His father began talking about horses, and to Erik's surprise, Christine made a few comments. Since when did she know anything about the beasts? Louis nodded and continued. It was obvious Christine had been to the stables more than once. She asked after one of the mares by name, and Louis gave her the information she sought. The conversation quickly changed to the gardens and Christine's choice in flowers. Erik admired his father's ease in conversation. Although he led the conversation, he did not dominate and made sure everyone participated. By the end of the meal, Erik was feeling almost normal. Christine had returned to her room, and he remained at the table with Louis, a large snifter of calvados in his hand. He drank deeply and missed his armagnac.

------------------------------------------------o

"You're getting better fast. I need your help," Louis said softly.

"Why? You have managed quite well without me."

"I have done well, I do not deny that, but I am growing old Erik. I might have two more years or perhaps I'll have ten. I've lived hard and fast, fought too many rivals, drunk too many bottles of wine, and pleased too many ladies—I'm tired," Louis rebutted, no self-pity tainting his voice.

"All this will be yours one day, son," he continued.

"I am not interested, teach _her_."

Louis sighed softly. "We have an obligation to ensure the livelihood of many."

"They are not my concern," Erik said with a wave of his hand.

"Perhaps you can brush aside the lives of hundreds, but are you not interested in taking care of your wife?"

"Why should I be when you seem to be doing a much better job than I ever could?"

His father quietly ignored the comment.

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Louis had chosen not to answer him. Erik's words hurt, but he refused to get into an argument with his convalescing son. He recalled one of old Berta's sayings, "Juntos pero no revueltos." At that moment, it meant he had to give his son breathing room.

He called for Christine in the morning and spoke plainly with her. She agreed with him and together they walked the grounds and went over all the available buildings. Finally, she decided on a bungalow on the other side of the keep. It was on the periphery of the estate, far from the main house. It had several rooms, all on the main floor, with a small garden. The best way to keep his son would be to separate from him.

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**Translation**: _Juntos pero no revueltos_. –Together but not jumbled.


	32. Chapter 32 Errors and Explorations

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta busanda who has found some very nice pictures. These and others will be included in my website next weekend. I simply do not have the time now.

I am sorry for the delays in the past few weeks but work and family obligation zapped my writing time.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it wakes up the muse and gets her going.

**Errors and Explorations**

**Chapter 32**

There was a light fog rambling through the land. It rolled down the hills, settling on the lowest points, dotting the land in soft wispy beads, leaving clear uncovered hills here and there. Teo watched as the fog rolled over the stables and made for her parents home. The master had been told of her disgrace. Teo sat on her thin mattress, trembling arms wrapped around her. No response had come from the main house. Her father told her the master had listened to him quietly and then ordered him back to work. He had made no comment, and nothing further was discussed. Teo had to wait. At some point, there would be a response. Right now, she wished it would be quick. Whatever he was going to do with her let him do it quickly.

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Of course he could remarry. He could have done so at anytime over the last forty years. Truth was he did not want a permanent attachment; he did not want anyone to make demands on him, his time, and his emotions. All his past mistresses had known this. No matter how high born, he had made himself clear, there would be no commitment, no long-term relationship. Alexa, the comtesse de Lisieux, had been the most beautiful and also the most insistent that their relationship should progress to another plateau. They enjoyed each other's bodies and company to the point of addiction. He had almost changed his mind with her—almost. His generosity and charm helped to ensure that he had plenty of ladies to choose from. However, once they began to make demands on his time or began to talk as if they wanted more from him, he would grow cold, removing them from his life. Now in his old age, all he wanted was a bedmate, a woman who knew her place in his life and valued it. She would provide affection and sex. He would in turn provide her with financial security. Not a prostitute but a mate of sorts, with a place within his home, his estate. It was not even about a having a readily available partner for sex but someone to hold. The years had left their mark, having developed in him a preference for constancy over novelty.

Three years ago, he had set his eyes on Teodora. He did not like to have the women from his own estate, but this time it would be different. He wanted one woman to share his bed from now until his death. Something in the young girl's eyes told him she would be the one. He had made it known he wanted her. His words to her father had been plain. They had agreed that he would wait until Teodora turned eighteen to take her to his bed. He would wait until summer when the situation with his son was settled. A few more months of watching her blossom would be sheer joy, knowing he would plunder that bouquet when he was ready.

The silk nightgown slid between his fingertips, cool and smooth. Her skin would feel this soft, but she no longer deserved to wear the garment he had purchased for the day she would hand her virginity to him. She was touched. Through no fault on her part he agreed, but she was no longer virginal.

How dare that maniac rob him of the fruit he had cultivated for so long? It was ruined now. Spoilt! Everyone on the estate was aware she had been touched by another. Damn her parents for not keeping her safe. It was a ridiculous argument he knew, but he insisted on it regardless. He would not be made a laughing stock in front of his own people. It was best for Dr. Zwieg that he was in the hospital. If he ever laid eyes on the doctor again, other body parts would join his tongue.

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When Gilles came to, he opened his eyes to a tiny room. He closed them again as the pain in his face hit him fully. His head was pounding. He must have been hurt, and he was taken where? The small room did not look like a hospital room. The walls were filthy, and as he moved his head slightly to look around, the bedding looked like it had serviced several guests. He tried to sit up by putting his elbow on the bed but found he was restrained. Though his hands were free, something was binding his arms to his sides. Despite his headache, he decided to call for someone. The hollow sound that gushed out of his mouth shocked him. He attempted to speak again, and the same garble tumbled from his lips. His heart pounded in his chest. He had to get answers to all this nonsense. Why was he, Dr. Gilles Zwieg, restrained and in a place like this? Things like that happened to unimportant people like his father but not to him. He saw light pour into the door as it opened.

He spoke up again loudly, letting them know who he was.

"Christ, it's him making that noise." A thin, tall man came into the room followed by a shorter burly companion.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, and something was shoved into his mouth and then secured at the back of his head. Didn't they hear him? What the hell was going on? With this thing in his mouth, he could not tell them.

"That should keep the bastard quiet," the burly man said. They both looked at him with hostile faces. He had never seen these people in his life. What could they have against him?

"That's the one who tried to kill the Marquis' son. Personally don't give a damn for none of these noble sods, but the hospital got money, and we're getting a bonus just for dealing wit' him."

"Ain't gonna be seeing the sun again, this one."

"Another nut case. A dummy too."

"Thinks he's a doctor that one."

"So you gonna be my boss? Hey boy? Doctor," the man snorted in amusement.

The first thing Gilles recalled from the recent events was his head next to a tongue. The other memories rushed back into his head with such intensity that he thought he would choke. The Thing was free and he was here!

He started to bang his head on the pillow to get the thought out of his head.

"Gonna hurt himself like that."

"Let him. We'll patch him up. He's not going anywhere. No one leaves this ward of Sainte-Lucille."

_Sainte-Lucille? The psychiatric hospital?_ He banged his head against the pillow harder and harder until the light grew brighter, and he relaxed into it.

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News arrived for Teo from the main house. The master sent word that he wanted her to go to him—no preambles. To add to her humiliation, no gift was sent for herself or her parents. She would go as ordered.

Teo appeared in front of him, her head down, eyes glued to her shoes. She did not want to see the disgusted look on his face.

"There is something for you to wear on the bed. I will return in a quarter of an hour, be ready." That was all the master had said. She didn't know if he had looked at her, since she did not look at him. Her answer had come in a nod.

By the time he reentered his chamber, she was already in bed, the covers up to her chin, tears welling in her eyes. She hated the change in her fate, but he was right to treat her as worthless now. She had failed everyone.

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Louis paced his bedroom from the windows to the large oak door. He tried to remember her father's words; the words from the stablehand that had first come to him. Somewhere in there, the truth had been lost. Had they said the wrong thing? Had he misinterpreted?

Teo had been scared, he knew that, and he had been gentle, not with words but in his treatment of her. It had been a total shock when, in the throes of his passion, he had encountered her maidenhead, too late to rein in the momentum. Teo had been a virgin! Why hadn't he asked her? Hanging his head in shame as he continued his grueling pacing across his room. Louis had taken her honor without giving it value. He had to make it up to her now, but how without offending her further? Although he did not apologize to her at that moment, he had whispered some words of comfort, which had somehow passed his lips in his confusion. Fool!

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Once they were settled in the bungalow, their days began to fall into a routine. Erik began to strengthen and slowly put on weight, and he was outside more and more often. His appetite still had not returned, although Christine tried to tempt him with a variety of dishes. Only she would manage to coax him to take a few bites before his temper got the better of him. It annoyed him that she would smile even when he was in a foul temper, as if to say, "See, you are getting better."

Erik loved the spacious bathroom with the huge tub. The warm water caressing his sore body brought thoughts of his wife.

His head resting against the tub, Erik beckoned her. "Christine, come in with me?"

"It wouldn't be proper."

"My dear, who decides what is proper in our home?"

She rolled her eyes and left him alone.

On their bed, worn out from the bath, she began to kiss him. He nuzzled his face against her throat as she cuddled him to her and continued pressing her lips to his. Erik was acutely aware, as always, that he wore no mask. He knew he should be taking charge, but it felt so good to allow Christine to take the lead. She broke through the last of his physical secrets and seemed to accept him as he was.

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The night before had been wonderful. Although he was not yet strong enough for the type of intimacies they had formerly enjoyed, he had allowed her to touch him. Christine felt him yield under her kisses. She trailed kisses down from his face to his yellowed chest. He had never allowed her access to his body before. She took this opportunity to survey its skeletal dimensions with her mouth. She moved over him, softly caressing, showering him with whispered kisses. Her breath rolled over his chest. Her hands roamed over the rest of him, while her lips explored her beloved. Erik kept his eyes closed, holding his body as in _rigor mortis_, only slight changes in his breathing let her know that he was enjoying her ministrations. He cried in her arms when it was over.

Erik woke up to a headache and a foul temper. Christine sat by him and immediately picked up his tonic.

"I would be better off dead than having to taste that again."

She ignored him and stood before him with a full spoon.

Erik swallowed the liquid and made a face. She smiled at his childishness and went out.

"Get dressed we are having breakfast with your father this morning," she said as she walked back in.

With a groan, he turned over and covered his head. Christine got into bed with him and realized her mistake when she felt skeletal fingers digging into her most ticklish areas. She giggled and jumped off the bed.

"Erik, up now!"

Another groan as two yellow feet hit the bedroom floor.

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He and Louis came to an agreement that he would wear his mask outside their cottage. He could not get used to being barefaced all the time around what were to him strangers. With his old comfort returned to him, he was able to join his father and Christine for short periods of time and relax. He often snoozed on a comfortable chair as he heard the animated conversation between Christine and his father. He had never felt so old.

With a sense of sadness, he recalled that just week or so ago his favorite new privilege had been using the privy chamber to relieve himself on his own. He had sunk so low! Yet, his mind went further back to much worse things that had happened to him. He was Erik, and Erik would reign again; he smiled to himself—with Christine's permission this time.

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The Christmas holidays came and went as did New Year's. Eduard returned to the estate with Meg, accompanied by Madame Giry, to celebrate Christine's birthday. Christine enjoyed her friend's company, and Erik was glad to hear the Opera House gossip from Eduard. He also enjoyed a game of chess with Eduard until it became obvious to him that the younger man was letting him win. _Am I so pathetic that people have to let me win? _He could not even summon the old anger to rage against the younger man.

A few weeks later, he was walking with Christine in the garden for short periods. And soon, he was able to take short walks on his own. He loved those walks with her. After ten minutes or so, she would make him take a seat under a shaded tree. While they sat, she always kissed him. It had been a long time since they had been physically intimate, and his body yearned for it. He dared not tell her for fear of embarrassing her, but every day he thought about it more often. He knew his body was not in any condition to undertake such activity, but parts of him did not agree. Her touches burned him, and instead of getting out of the hot pan, he jumped into the fire and played their kissing games.

His hands grew bolder as his mouth hungered, but he could not walk far enough on the grounds to be away from prying eyes. And so, his touches were restricted to her arms and waist. How he reveled in the exquisite torture of her kisses.

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During the first days of spring, Erik helped Christine in the garden behind the cottage, but it bored him. He tried to get interested in the horses on the estate, but he found the smell surrounding them revolting. The orchardshe did enjoy and took long walks through them. East of them, he found a small vineyard. Gnarled vines were placed in an odd location, covering no more than an acre. When he questioned Louis about the miniature vineyard, his father told him some ancestor of theirs saved them when King Louis XIII ordered all the vineyards in Normandy to be replaced with apple orchards. This small patch had been spared. The original label was still used to bottle the wine produced. The vines had been cultivated since that time and produced only enough bottles for the family's consumption. Louis had opened a bottle, and they each had a generous sample of the wine. Erik enjoyed the fact that the ugly vines produced such a delicious wine.

In the warming evenings of early spring, he and Christine sat on the bench Louis had set by the lake under the shade of an old tree. He always lay his hand proprietarily on her knee; the small smile on her lips made him leave it there. They sat facing the dozing sun, cool winds at their backs, her head rested gently on his shoulders.

Erik became fascinated with the castle keep. It was gray, with few windows, and by comparison to the château—ugly. Erik began to ask Louis about the old structure. It was the oldest part of the estate, dating back to the thirteenth century. The original châtelain had been the one to plant the vineyards in which he enjoyed walking. Louis did not have much information, but he did tell Erik that inside the keep there were books that would give him much more information about the family properties. He himself had never felt the need to go searching through the old libraries.

Erik spent endless hours rummaging through the rooms. Many contained trunks and vaults with uncatalogued items. Louis told him he had always meant to go through these things, but there was always something more important to do. The years passed, and the items had lain in their tombs.

It was during his wanderings through the castle that Erik discovered the old tunnels.

He followed one only to hear voices above him at the end, but he couldn't make out where he was. Next day, he determined to follow another tunnel. This one led to a much quieter building. Choosing still another tunnel to follow, it was Doña Berta's booming voice that alerted Erik to his presence under the château. All the tunnels were intertwined, some even led to outside the estate, deep into the forest. These must have been made and perhaps even used by the châtelain to escape during an attack. He found strange markings along the tunnel walls one day but chose to investigate those another time.

In these dank, dark tunnels with their moisture, he found his strength again. They were not as deep as those he had constructed surrounding his home under the Opera House, but they were underground. He finally found the tunnel that led to their bungalow. Some of the tunnels led to rooms that contained low rock shelves, perhaps used in the past for some sort of storage. One room contained an underground well. Erik pried the lid open to discover what he hoped would be a usable well. Next day, he brought a bucket with him and a length of rope. He tested the water on a few chickens and a pig. The water was sweeter than the well used above.

So great was his enthusiasm that evening that he forgot to return on time for his supper.

He emerged from the forest exit, not wanting anyone to even guess where he had been, and walked home. Men had already been out searching for him. He told a worried Louis and Christine he had taken a walk in the forest and gotten lost. Happily, he put up with a load of warnings. He put his arm around his crying wife and consoled her. Erik didn't know why, but he did not want anyone to know about the tunnels. All these tunnels to travel and explore made him feel at home, but they also made him homesick. Erik made up his mind to return to his Opera House for a visit. He had to pay a special call on a few people there.

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Châtelain: Old French title below that of baron. Literally means keeper of the castle.


	33. Chapter 33 Promises to Keep

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: **Thank you to my beta Busanda, who worked on this chapter on Easter Sunday despite family obligations.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading and being so patient. I apologize for the delays in bringing you this chapter. I was traveling and have been having major internet problems I am hoping these are now at an end. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you get a chance please leave a review, it wakes up the muse and sustains hergets her going.

Black Despair story is now listed in five c2s. Thanks!

Chapter 33

**Promises to Keep**

"No, no, Christine, watch me again," a velvety voice told her. "You bend your legs like this, and then you lower yourself. Yes, that's it. Oh, you do that so prettily."

Christine's face glistened as she copied the elegant woman before her. They had been practicing for hours. Her body ached, but the excitement of what she was doing kept her going. Louis had insisted on getting someone to help her choose her new wardrobe and give her tips on how to behave in the company of the aristocracy; Erik had agreed. Immediately, Louis had smirked and mentioned Lady Alexa de Bressuire. According to Louis, Alexa was the youngest daughter of the Baron de Bressuire. Her father had gambled the family fortune away. What was left was rescued by the oldest son who was not known for his generosity. At first, Alexa managed to maintain her status by using her looks, and had it not being for her expensive tastes, she might have amassed a sizeable fortune. Louis counted himself as a major contributor to pleasing her tastes, of course she had also pleased him. With her beauty waned, she could now be counted on to set young wives of not so noble birth on the right path. Not only was Alexa a walking fashion plate, but she was knowledgeable with the ways of the French nobility.

"Here, Christine, try this, and then we have lunch," Alexa urged. "Relax your back…"

Christine heard the instructions and followed happily relaxing and stretching newly discovered muscles. No matter how hard she had to work, when she met the Rouen aristocracy, Christine Daaé, no, Christine Rouxville, would look, act, and talk like them. Every pore of her body would exude nobility. Her acting ability would cover the rest. She had been about to marry a vicomte but had inadvertedly married a man who was rightfully a comte, if he should accept the title. She would not deny her destiny a second time. Her father-in-law would never allow her to sing in public again, that was a given, but this new life he was helping her prepare for was more important to her now. Erik would not be pleased with the public silencing of his songbird, and she would deal with that when the time came. Right now, Christine wanted the pretty dresses and the dinners and the balls Louis promised her. She was young and wanted to enjoy her new life.

"Christine!" Louis walked up to her, kissed her cheek, and put her hand on his arm, covering it with his own larger one. "How are you getting along with Alexa?" he asked, eyes crinkling at the corners. "She can be a little overbearing." He winked. "But in her favor…she is a lady's lady."

"I wish I could be like her. It looks so elegant when she does…everything!"

"I do not deny her elegance. But, no, my dear," he patted her hand, "you do not want to be like Alexa. Imagine having to sell your services just to eat." _No_. His head shook gravely as he pouted. Christine had always sold her services as an entertainer, but she would not mention that. Her arm entwined with his, he led her to the dining room. "You, my dear Christine, will be the beautiful, charming mistress of this estate." Louis grinned and kissed her hand before replacing it on his arm. "Now, where's my son? Is he off rummaging again?"

--------------------------------o

The different materials used to make the tunnels told their history. Some were made of the same rocks as the old castle keep. In others, the builders had used modern bricks. The style of construction told him even more. To most people, a tunnel was a tunnel, and it made no difference. To Erik, the tunnels spoke to him more than a house. A tunnel was hidden so that its architecture and construction lay bare. A tunnel had only to be safe. When someone took the trouble to decorate it, there was a good reason. The tunnels emerging from the castle keep, made in preparation for a military confrontation, were the roughest. The ones leading from the new chateau to their cottage were ornate. Instead of rough pillars, fine Doric columns adorned the sides. A small bench could be found here and there. These tunnels were meant for leisure travel to somewhere fun. Erik made his way back to their cottage through the tunnels. His heart ached for his old home and the tunnels he had carved out of the underground Parisian rock. He would pack and leave Christine a note, so she would know where he was headed.

-----------------------------------o

He chose a small carriage without the family arms on the side and a single coachman to drive. Erik took over the reins during the night to give the coachman a break and to allow himself the freedom of the top seat. Cool winds flowed past him, filling his lungs with fresh night air. If he had told his Christine about the trip, she would have made him doubt his state of health. He was fine, as fine as he had ever been. His father would have argued about his safety in Paris. No, Paris was not safe, but it was as close to a hometown as he had ever known; it beckoned him. It was best to do things his way, as he had always done.

On arrival at the Paris Opera House, he sent the coachman and carriage to a nearby inn with a stable. He entered his old home through the Rue Scribe entrance. Silently, he made his way down the meandering tunnel toward the lake. Its musky odor hit him like day-old vomit. His steps echoed against the damp walls. The boat looked smaller than he recalled, but he got in and poled toward his house.

As he went deeper into the Opera House, Erik could feel more than hear the strains of the music above. The orchestra was practicing. He could see the slow evaporation of the lake water as it rose in a hazy mist about him. He watched water droplets fall from above his head, refilling the lake and starting the process all over again. He brushed a few from his shoulders. Erik got off the boat, carefully anchoring it to a pole, and entered his house by the lake.

Her scent was still in his home. It brought up memories of their time together, from the first painful days when she was virtually his prisoner, to their first tentative kisses. He recalled their intimate times and felt a stab of loneliness, wishing to run back to Rouen to be at her side. Almost everything looked the same, but this was no longer home, and he wanted to be with his wife.

To his surprise, the house was neat, even clean. He had braced himself to see his home in shambles. As he walked around, he noticed the hole created in the kitchen by which the bandits had come through to invade their home. The gaping hole was there, but the debris had been cleared up. He acknowledged the knot in his stomach as he looked at it and walked away from the area. In their bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed to calm the building rage. The memories of impotence and the fury going through him made his legs weak, the knot in his stomach strangling his breath. During a recent conversation, Christine had told him that the thieves had come for her, for her jewels. They meant to hurt his Christine! Erik stood up and rushed out of the house.

-----------------------------------o

"Aaaaahg!"

"What the hell are you doing following me?" Erik turned and roared.

The dark figure struggled with the tight cord at his neck, continuing to make strange choking sounds. Erik dragged the choking man toward a torch on the tunnel wall.

"You idiot!" He frowned as he eyed the man. "I could jolly well have killed you."

"Sir," the hoarse voice attempted. Erik removed the rope and allowed the man's body to sag against the wall. The ratcatcher struggled to stand up straight.

"Sebastian, have you learned nothing?" Erik re-looped the catgut in his hands and moved away from the man leaning against the wall.

"I...I did not know you were back, sir." Sebastian looked up sheepishly.

Erik did not bother to answer him and walked away. The other man lagged behind but continued to follow him.

"If you must follow, do so quietly. I am not in the habit of announcing my presence."

------------------------------------o

After finding Erik's note on their kitchen table, Christine took it to Louis. Louis did not say so, but he looked hurt that Erik had not left him word about his trip. Christine was surprised that she didn't feel hurt by Erik's sudden disappearance. She went back to the cottage with two maids, and they quickly gathered a few of her things as she returned to her old bedroom in the main house. Christine enjoyed the main house. She loved being in the cottage with Erik, but the bustle of the château with Doña Berta and all the servants fascinated her.

--------------------------------o

Erik stopped abruptly outside of Madame Giry's apartment.

"Sebastian, go find out where the rest of those bastards are that invaded my home. I have business in here. And locate _that _wench."

"But, sir…I…"

"Just do it!" He disappeared behind a trapdoor.

He was in the same enclosure where he had hidden with Christine when the de Chagnys had attacked him. He surveyed the room from behind the enclosure, and as soon as the older Giry entered, he walked out, making sure to pull himself to his full height. The old woman did not look alarmed, and that irked him. "Monsieur…or should I say, my lord?"

"We are not at the château."

"But you are still the same man, with the same background."

"Please yourself, Madame Giry, however, I would prefer if you would address me with the same degree of respect as you always have."

"I am glad to see you recuperated."

"Yes."

"Have you returned, sir? Or is this a visit?"

He turned away from her. "As much as it pains me to leave it, Christine informs me that the police are well aware of my home's existence."

"I heard that from Meg as well. She stayed with Christine that night."

"What do you know of that…Mariele? I need to have a chat with said young lady at some point."

"You did not hear then, sir?" She smoothed her tight bun and slowly fixed him with her eyes.

He looked at her impatiently through narrowed eyes. "Do not test my patience, Madame! Say what you know and do not waste my time," he growled in annoyance. "Hear what?"

"She was found some months ago. If it is Mariele the cleaner you speak of." She stopped talking and watched the expression of surprise on his face. She swallowed and spoke slowly as if savoring her ownership of the information. "She was found stripped of her skin…and alive!" Her eyes were a little unfocused as she told her story, underlining its importance.

He refused to give her more satisfaction than necessary, and so he kept his face impassive. "Where was she found?"

"Behind the scenery for Faust."

With difficulty, he managed to control a smile. "How long did she last?"

"A few days, I heard. Her screams filled the hospital halls."

"I suppose they blamed me."

"Someone saw you." The old woman smirked, showing the gaps between her teeth.

Erik snickered. "Of course." He tilted his head as if to shift direction. "Well, I have a business proposition, concerning little Giry. I have need of her services, and a promise to keep." He saw the old woman start, the color washing out from her shriveled cheeks.

"Madame Giry, I am a happily married man," he reminded her with more patience than he felt.

"The services I require are of an…upright nature."

"I am at your service, sir, as I have always been," she said, regaining more color than she needed to.

"Do you recall the letter I sent you a while back, concerning little Giry?"

"Recall the letter? I have it safely tucked away in my box of baubles."

He fixed her with both eyes and said, "It is time for little Giry to take a step closer to her future."

The old woman gasped, her eyes bright with tears. "It is only a year away."

"Time is of the essence then." Erik sat on the small settee and took his gloves off.

------------------------------------------------o

The seamstress, pressing her pin laden lips, lightly touched Christine's elbow and moved her a quarter turn.

"Twenty years ago, I still had a waist like yours," Alexa said wistfully.

"It is not much bigger now. You are so beautiful, Alexa. I wish I had your style."

"You will Christine. That is what I'm here for."

With another touch to her elbow, the seamstress turned Christine another quarter turn.

"By the time your husband returns, you will be outfitted for your new role as a comtesse."

Christine felt shivers go up her spine. _Comtesse!_ She wanted it with all her being, but Erik had not agreed to take the title officially yet. _He has to, he just has to._

---------------------------------------------------o

"Sir, I waited," Sebastian whispered.

"Good man." Erik nodded "But you did not tell me of your exploits, I had to find out…secondhand." Erik lightly touched the man's shoulder, and the ratcatcher straightened up. "About the wench, I mean…it was not quick…well done!" They continued for a while in silence. "Did you locate the others?" he asked, watching the man beside him.

"I done that already, sir. I know where they are. Only two o'them work here in the Opera House. I would have taken care of it…but I…had no orders…I kept an eye on them."

As they arrived at the house on the lake, he turned from the man and allowed him entrance to his home. "There are some things we will take with us, then we will go hunting."

-----------------------------------o

Louis cursed at the knock on the door. Without a word, Teo quickly brought the sheet up under her chin. She still shied from being found in his bed. He loved her genuine innocence. He had sent for her the day after he'd realized his error. Teo had her own room in the house and now served only as Christine's companion. A maid took care of Christine's room and personal needs. He had had special dresses made for her and had already given her a welcoming bauble. Teo came to him happily, and he received her comfort with equal pleasure.

The knock came again as Louis tied his silk robe and opened the door.

"My lord, you have visitors."

He rolled his eyes. "At this time?"

"It is still afternoon, my lord." His valet smirked a little. "It is the Comte Philippe and his brother."

"Make them comfortable, I'll be right down. And wipe that smirk off your face. Honestly, I let my staff get away with too much," he said not too seriously, but the other man rearranged his face.

"Yes, my lord."

He grimaced and walked back to the bed, kissing Teo lightly.

With a smile on her full lips, she said, "I will go keep Madame company."

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Alexa discreetly peeked around the door to the front parlor and gasped.

"Oh, Christine, this opportunity was made in heaven." Her eyes sized up whoever was in the room. "Come, my girl. We will practice introductions." Alexa took Christine's hand and led her into the front parlor.

Christine saw two large forms rapidly rise up and move forward toward her and Alexa. As she focused, she found herself facing Raoul de Chagny. Behind her, she heard voices.

His mouth was slightly lax. He looked older, weary. Perhaps it was from the long trip.

Too quickly, he closed the space between them. "Christine!"

They stood staring at each other. Neither said another word. Christine wanted to speak or move, but her legs would not obey her.

"Christine, this is…Christine? Christine?" She heard Alexa's voice behind her but could not respond.

"How have you been?" Raoul's voice carried her to a promise made almost a year ago on a rooftop under Apollo's wings. This man that stood in front of her was not the boy of a year ago. His golden curls were shorn in the current naval style, the mustache crisp. He was as handsome as ever, but now she could not say he was pretty. Even his skin had been weathered by the north seas. Not even that remained of the boy she had known.

"Raoul!" Christine did not wish to sound as breathless as she did.

"Oh." Alexa exclaimed almost to herself. "You know each other." For the first time, Christine heard the older beauty quiet as she stood at a loss of words.

"Christine, you look…you look…" His blue eyes shone in the afternoon light.

Philippe stood between them and turned to his brother. "Louis is coming down. Compose yourself, man!" he rasped between gritted teeth.

Philippe had not said a word to her, and she withdrew to stand by Alexa. She could feel the heat rising in her face.

With a smile on her face, Alexa took her arm and lightly squeezed. "Look up and smile. Now, Christine!" She obeyed instantly and watched the three men hug and slap each other. Louis tousled the fair hair on top of Raoul's head.

"Good God, man, what are they feeding you?" Louis said in acknowledgement of Raoul's increased bulk. "I thought the Navy was supposed to starve you and whip you into shape."

Comfortable laughter followed. Alexa excused herself and Christine, and they left. She felt hot eyes follow her out.

Once in Christine's room, Alexa locked the door and put her back to it.

"What was that about?"

"We were engaged a while ago." She could not look at the woman's eyes.

"And does he know it's over?"

"Oh, Alexa." She sighed and nodded.

"Do you?"

She plopped down on her bed and covered her face. Christine refused to look at the older woman. Even her ears burned by now.

"Are you in love with…"

"No, no, I…I was surprised." She looked up anyway. "The last time we saw each other…well, the circumstances have changed. He has changed." She wrung her hands.

"Does he know you are married?"

"He almost killed my husband. Well, he tried…yes, he knows."

"You were really engaged to the Viscomte de Chagny?" Christine nodded. "And yet you chose…"

Christine shot up from the bed and faced the older woman. "I love my husband. I love him like I had never known I could love," Christine said with a frown. She remembered that when Alexa had met Erik she had stared at his mask, and he had been abrupt if not downright rude. She did not have the best impression of her husband.

"Then what happened downstairs?"

"Nothing! Raoul was my best friend when we were children. My first girlish love. Then a year ago, it all began again, and I thought…no, I did love him. Then things happened…with Erik." She looked down at her red hands.

Alexa shook her head. "Relax, my dear, I will round up a tea service for us, although, perhaps wine will be better for today," the older woman said, leaving Christine wringing her hands again.

------------------------------------------o

"Alexa, they will stay for a few days. Philippe did not want to, but I just won't have it. I have not seen my godson for months. You need to stay. And…don't raise that eyebrow at me, I know you grilled the girl." He paced excitedly in front of her. "I was there the day she rejected young Raoul in favor of my son. However, you need to stay. I don't want her left alone for a moment, and Teo…Teodora is too young. I want Erik to know his wife was properly chaperoned."

"You need me then?"

He did not say a word for a long time, and when her eyebrow went further up, he capitulated. "Just name your price. Damn you, woman. Always business first. Never mind the price, I'll pay what you want." He kissed her lips lightly, and with a shake of the head, he walked away. Her light laughter followed him.

"You'll have to send for my things, Louis."

--------------------------------------o

Erik wiped the catgut down with a rag. He had pulled too hard and had almost severed the head. _Lack of practice._ He was glad to be alone for this. It had to be done. All these people posed a threat to his Christine and to himself. He could argue that now that they lived in Rouen they posed no threat, but Erik knew better. An enemy alive was always a potential threat. He had already made that mistake with the woman, it would not be repeated. Mercifully, Sebastian had taken care of Mariele. He hated disposing of women.

He had begun with the two thieves that worked near the quarry, followed by the one who lived above the butcher, and he had just dispatched the big fellow who frequented a certain bar by the Madeleine. Sebastian pointed them out, and he disposed of them, one after the other—simple, quick, efficiently done. It had been a long time. His long legs weaved through the alleys with the elegance of old.

For the first time since the Commune had taken to using the dungeons underneath his home, he felt nervous about staying in his house by the lake. He recoiled the catgut, placed it into his pocket, and donned his cape. _The Daroga should still be awake, and if he is not, then he will be awakened._ Erik bid Sebastian a good-night and headed out in the opposite direction, continuing his snaking through the Parisian alleys. He angled his head as he used to do so that his mask was hidden by the hood of his cape. All the old habits were coming back to him.

--------------------------------------------------oo

Refers to the letter the Opera Ghost wrote to Madame Giry revealing that Meg would become an Empress by 1885. _The_ _Phantom of the Opera_ by Gaston Leroux, Chapter 16.


	34. Chapter 34 Old Ghosts

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, Madame Giry, and the Opera House managers. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N: **Thank you to my wonderful beta Busanda who always does a great job.

**Thank you** to my readers and reviewers for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I am sorry for the delays lately. I hope that I can get a steady source of Internet access. If you get a chance please leave a review, it shakes and wakes up the muse.

**Chapter 34**

**Old Ghosts **

"Daroga, wake up. It is Erik!" The heavy banging on the door was answered by slow footsteps.

He heard a shuffle and murmuring behind the door and waited until it cracked open. Sleep-swollen eyes peered at him from a dark face.

"Erik?" a groggy voice answered.

"You great booby did you think you were rid of Erik? Open up!"

"It _is_ you," Hafiz said, eyeing the mask. He opened the door slightly wider. "Well, well, you…"

"Save the discourse. It is cold out here." Erik tried to smile, but his thin lips failed to make it more than a grimace. "Open. I have come to stay with you," he insisted.

"Whatever do you mean, Erik? Stay with me?" Hafiz opened his door wide, his body blocking the entrance.

"Surely you do not expect me to remain in a house with a hole in the floor made by thieves. I am not such a fool. No, I have come to stay with you tonight."

"_You_ cannot sleep because of a hole in your floor, and _I_ will surely not sleep because you are here…with your lasso to be sure."

"Have you become so selfish, daroga, that even after so long, you do not even inquire after my health?"

"I have inquired after your health from the Comte de Meux and Mademoiselle Giry. He had sad news that turned for the better by the end of the story. I can see for myself that you are fine."

Crossing his arms, Erik began to tap his foot in annoyance. "Do not make me waste my time, daroga. Am I welcome or not? I might remind you that you are still responsible for my behavior."

"Obviously, your beautiful wife finally came to her senses and kicked you out. Good for her." Hafiz sighed deeply, rubbed his eyes, and stepped back so Erik could pass.

"What is obvious to me is how little you have come to value your life."

"Erik, you are welcome." Hafiz bowed deeply with a smirk on his lips. "And so I say good-bye to a good night's rest." He walked on ahead of his guest, gesturing. "You may sleep on this sofa or take the spare bedroom Christine used during her stay here."

"Not only have you grown selfish, but you have also picked up the sin of greed. Am I not even to be offered a draught of cider? Or are you hoarding it as tightly as your hospitality?"

"I will offer you tea as I do not drink alcohol." He turned back toward Erik with hands on hips. "Have I not mentioned this to you on many occasions, Erik, both here and in Persia? I am a Muslim, I was one when you met me and have continued to practice Islam. Yet you insist!"

"Ah, do not tease, old man, and offer me what you will," Erik responded, beginning to grow impatient.

"I offer you my home and my kitchen. My bed I keep to myself!" Hafiz said, walking off toward the kitchen.

Erik watched his friend walk away, dropped onto the sofa, and carefully folded his cloak under his head. He stretched out and allowed his feet to dangle over the edge. His eyes fluttered, and he was asleep before the water boiled.

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"Christine, may I have a word? Privately?" The Vicomte de Chagny blocked her path.

Raoul's request caught her unawares, and Christine stopped in the middle of the hallway, Alexa on one side of her and Teo on the other. She saw Raoul straightened up to his full height and ignoring the two chaperones. He looked straight into Christine's eyes until she blinked, lowering hers. Where had this boldness come from? She nodded, and all four walked into the library.

"Christine, you look enchanting." His eyes roamed her figure before returning to her face.

Christine felt her cheeks grow warm. Alexa shifted.

"A blush on a rose could not look as appealing or alluring. But I am certain that you know that. Your husband must tell you that every day. I know I would tell you that and so much more if I were married to you."

Alexa cleared her throat and attempted to draw the vicomte's attention. Teo shuffled her feet but kept her gaze down. Christine stayed rooted to the spot. Her eyes glued to his chin.

"_If I_ were married to someone like you, I would tell you how much I love you," continued the vicomte. "I would tell you that you are always on my mind."

"Sir," Alexa interrupted. "It is not proper."

He continued to ignore the other women and lifted Christine's chin with his finger, forcing her to look into his crystal blue eyes. She felt the warmth on her face grow and grabbed the sides of her dress for support.

"I would tell you that time and distance do not exist for me…nor other promises."

"Sir, I insist that you leave or…," Alexa cried.

"Of course, Lady Alexa. Though I am not finished, I am certain that I was heard." He kept his eyes on Christine's. "You might find pity for me if you knew that I am not allowed to say those words because I am not married to the lady. Not by my choice but because the woman of my dreams was stolen from me." After a heavy sigh, he bowed slightly, "Ladies," leaving all three women open-mouthed in the library.

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Erik stopped the boat's movement just before it reached the lake's far shore. He bent on one knee and reached toward the water, his palm gently patted the water's surface causing ripples to form. Without waiting, he whistled a tune and softly patted the water again.

"Come on, girl. Are you upset with me? I never meant to leave you behind. I was unconscious when they took me from here. You must have seen." He patted the water again and peered intently into the lake. "You saw what happened. Let me see your sweet face, my little siren. Come on, you're not angry with your Erik, are you?"

A disturbance broke the water's surface, and a slim hand gingerly slipped into his. "That's my girl. I have a thing or two to finish up here. Then we are going to our new home."

-------------------------------o

Crack! Erik looked at the dangling head still well attached to the neck. _All done; no more._ He smiled, pleased with his job. _Much better, all I needed was a little practice. All those weeks in bed cannot be good for anyone. _He looked over to the other body. Its head was also positioned at an impossible angle.

"It is their own fault," he said to Sebastian. "Did I invite them into my house? Did I put it in their heads that they should covet my wife's jewelry? No, Erik did not invite them, yet they took it upon themselves to make a hole at the bottom of my home, to desecrate my abode. Now they will never bother us again." He paced in front of the cadavers. Sebastian stood in one corner, quietly watching the hand with the lasso. "Weigh it down," he ordered, pointing to one of the bodies. "It will not be found until Erik has left. The other one has more immediate use."

"Tonight I will use my box. It has been so long since I have enjoyed an opera!" He looked down, eyeing his attire. "I cannot go dressed like this. It will not do. I must check that my best outfit is in good repair." He walked away leaving Sebastian behind, wide-eyed and still pressed against the wall, eyes glued to Erik's back.

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Dressed in a dark, elegant suit, Erik stepped gingerly into Box Five. For the first time since the Opera House opened, he had paid for the privilege of sitting in his favorite box. Erik was annoyed that the performance for that night was Massenet's _Don César de Bazán_. He muttered to himself but kept his eyes on the stage. He preferred _Le Roi de Lahore_. The curtain rose, and he was transported to Spain. Strains of music rose to his box, and he relaxed, slouching down on his seat. He had ordered refreshments, which were promptly brought to him by Madame Giry.

------------------------------------------------o

Teo was summoned by Louis after the three women had their afternoon tea. Christine looked through several fashion magazines with Alexa, pointing out which dresses she should consider. After watching Christine yawn twice, Alexa quickly convinced her charge to take an early evening stroll in the gardens before they turned in. The evening was warm, and they wore only light cloaks. The fresh smell of recently turned earth clung in the air. As soon as they stepped out, Alexa noticed the young vicomte at the end of the garden. Realizing her error, she informed Christine and took the young woman's elbow to turn them about. Raoul looked up when he heard a swoosh from the skirts. His mischievous smirk was barely framed by a pale mustache.

"Were you ladies about to ignore me in my loneliness?"

"As it is not our job to lessen your pain…," Alexa replied.

"Lady Alexa, do you still find no pity for me?" A full grin masked his pretence at sorrow.

With a laugh, the older woman told him, "How can anyone have pity for one so dashing as yourself, vicomte?"

Raoul turned to Christine. "Pity, dear lady, not for my looks but for my broken heart. Months have passed since my loss, and I find no solace in this world."

Alexa placed herself between them and stood in front of Christine, glaring at the young man. "Sir!"

"Or in battle. If she were near, I would wish the lady to know I entered battle with her in my thoughts. And that it was the sweetness of these thoughts that brought me through."

Christine looked shocked; her heart beat against her chest. She had never wanted Raoul to come to harm. Her original sacrifice had been for his sake. "What battle are you referring to, Raoul?" she asked him. "I was not aware that you were in danger."

"A minor skirmish, of no great consequence, but nonetheless deadly for two of my men."

Christine gasped. Her hands flew to her heart. "Oh, Raoul."

Raoul managed to step by Alexa and stand in front of Christine, holding her hand. "Do not worry yourself over what is past, my dear Christine."

"Vicomte, again, I must protest," Alexa insisted.

"Of course you must protest, as any worthwhile chaperone would." Raoul leaned toward Christine and whispered in her ear. "I must speak with you. Not like this. Please?" He waited for a response from her and finding none, "Please, you are my oldest friend." A slight nod on her part, and he stepped back. Still holding Christine's hand, he lightly brushed his lips over her fingers. "I will find you," he mouthed. Her breath caught. _What have I agreed to?_ Christine felt Alexa's hand pulling on her. The older woman was red-faced and muttering under her breath.

Following a quick bow in their direction, the vicomte walked deeper into the garden. Alexa pulled on Christine's hand until they were safely in the younger woman's room. She then turned to Christine. "Well…I…has he always been so…so passionate?"

Christine merely shook her head. Her hand still over her heart.

"Oh my, I have my work cut out for me," Alexa sighed. "I need a drop of brandy, and I need a raise!"

------------------------------------------------------o

Erik sat at the edge of his seat in Box Five. His nails dug into his palm when the King attempted his seduction of Maritana, Don César's wife. His stomach knotted just to think of the possibility of her infidelity. His thoughts raced to Christine, his Christine. _No, I will not have these thoughts about her._ He forced himself to sit back and breathe slowly. _She deserves all my trust_.

More than once, he almost turned to make a comment to Christine during the performance, and then he remembered she was not at his side but in Rouen. In the end, not being able to comment to her about the general lack of talent in the performers and the state of the orchestra ruined the evening for him. Thanks to the absence of La Carlotta, he halfheartedly felt that the role of Maritana was well performed, although with considerable errors. He felt besotted with the young singer's rendition of "La Sevillana" and committed her name to memory—Mlle. Peridote, a definite improvement over Mlle. Priola.

Another glance at the program told him something was wrong. His eyes went to the date and widened at his sudden realization. Erik's heart lurched. Tomorrow was their wedding anniversary! In a snap of cape that was anything but discreet, he left the box by the same column he had entered. Several heads snapped up to see a fleeting shadow in Box Five.

Once in his underground home, he set about gathering all the items he had planned on taking with him. He took advantage of being alone and gathered the cash hidden behind several trapdoors. The ones he had shown Christine, he found she had emptied. He checked and left a few impossible-to-spot trapdoors as the eggs best left outside the proverbial basket.

As Erik was taking his paintings down, Sebastian returned to the home. The ratcatcher had already taken the first load and left it near the Rue Scribe entrance.

"Did you rent the cart?" Erik inquired of Sebastian, carefully rolling up a painting stolen from the archives of a Parisian gallery.

"Yes, sir, for tomorrow as you instructed me."

"That will not do. _I must leave tonight!_ There is a change in plans. Listen to me clearly, Sebastian. You will remain with my possessions and take them to Rouen in the cart tomorrow."

"I am to take your things to your home, sir?"

"Yes."

"Will you be turnin' me back here when it is done?"

Erik took in the raggedy suit the man wore. Sebastian's eyes did not waver from his. He looked into the man's eyes and nodded. "I happen to have need for a good man in Rouen. You fancy the move?"

"Me? Sir!" Sebastian lost his ability to say another word. He swallowed hard and continued, "I just need you t'write my sister, let'er know. I am ready when you please, sir."

"Let us get on then. No time for all this chitchat. Do not take anything with you. Whatever you might need, I will procure for you." Erik turned his back to the man and took down another painting. "Go on, you have to get my carriage, and then you still have a package to deliver upstairs."

"Yes, sir." Sebastian smiled.

"Your days of catching rats are over."

"I won't be missin' those critters, sir."

"You will go and find my coachman now. He can pick me up by the Rue Scribe entrance. I need to leave immediately."

"As you say." Sebastian turned and headed out down a tunnel.

Erik enjoyed the man's instant obedience. He recalled Christine's innocent compliance when he first met her. _My Christine. Christine! Oh, damn! Where can I get her a present at this time of the night?_ Late for their first anniversary and with no present! _Christine will expect a present._ He walked to the living area and pushed an oddly shaped indentation in a rock. A small hatch opened, and Erik removed a leather pouch. He put his hand inside and pulled out a large gem: one of the Tears of Constantinople, a perfect blue diamond about the size of his thumb pad. It was a gift from the Sultan in gratitude for his work. The others remained in the royal palace. The sovereign had intended to re-appropriate the gem once Erik was dead. As a surprise to his employer, Erik made both the gem and the palace magician vanish. He would give this to Christine and have it set into a brooch as soon as possible. He would worry about how to present his gift on the way back to Rouen. Right now, he needed to pack and then have a short conversation with Madame Giry. He hoped the old woman would not spoil his plans.

------------------------------------------------------------o

"Little Giry will be an Empress. Of course, I am right, madame. Step by step, we will get her there, and step one is for her to marry the Comte de Meux."

"I put all my trust in you. She has done well as a dancer. It has taken her far."

"And it will take her even further, the further she is from the stage."

"We will do as you say."

"I do not care how you do it. Get yourself and your daughter to the château within five days. You will not be returning here so take everything you value." He handed Madame Giry a full leather pouch. "This should more than adequately cover your expenses. Make sure you do not leave a trace or hint of your new location. Little Giry must not know of it until she is on the way. The comte must not know what became of her. Not a hint. If you fail in this, I will wash my hands off the pair of you."

"But if he does not know, how will he…?" She stopped talking when she saw the fire that was burning in his eyes. "I will follow your instructions exactly, monsieur. We will be at the château in five days," the old woman affirmed.

"You will receive a packet with money I am owed, secure it and take this along with you." Before she could assent to follow those instructions as well, a shadow slipped into her closet and she was left alone.

------------------------------------------------o

Christine set about looking for the dress she would wear tomorrow. _Our first anniversary! _She had hoped Erik would be back tonight. _He should return by tomorrow morning at the latest._ They would have a special dinner in their cottage. She was certain that he had gone to Paris to get her a special gift that would not be available in Rouen. _Could it be perfume, chocolates, or jewelry?_ With annoyance she recalled she had left the dress in their cottage. She would go early in the morning with Teo or Alexa to retrieve it and make sure it was ready.

Her mind wandered to the events of the day and Raoul's insistence. Christine was sure that his poetic babble had been due to Alexa's presence. She would allow Raoul a little privacy, but it would have to be in a public place. She recalled her error last time. It would not be repeated. At the same time, she could not deny her childhood friend a few innocent minutes. This would also give her an opportunity to make sure he understood her position and stopped embarrassing her.

She found it amazing that she could find Raoul incredibly handsome and yet not even consider renewing their old romance. That part of her life now belonged to Erik. What would Erik bring back from Paris? Her thoughts again returned to plan their anniversary. Christine had two gifts for Erik. Louis had given her a silver cravat pin, which had belonged to Erik's grandfather. Her second gift was her own. It would take seconds to deliver it, but it would please him the most.

-------------------------------------------------o

Just before he left his office, M. Richard, manager of the Opera House, reached into his pocket and found a letter. He immediately recognized the red ink.

Dear Managers,

It is my sincere hope that you find yourselves in good health. I have not had the need to communicate with you for a while, and I do so now with the heaviest of hearts.

I was not happy to find that my box had been sold to a Monsieur Rouxville. Have you forgotten our agreement? Did I ask you not to dispose of my box? I find your actions disagreeable and was most disappointed by them.

Due to unforeseen events, Christine Daaé was unable to share her talent with you late last year as I had discussed with you. However, Mlle. Daaé will be rejoining you by this summer. I will send you word when you should ready yourselves for her, as she will need an ample dressing room and several maids to aid her. You may hand my salary for this month to Mme. Giry tonight. At this point, you owe me four-months salary, which, to make all our lives easier, I will round off to F 80,000. You have four days in which to hand that over to her as well. If it should happen that Mme. Giry is not in possession of this money in exactly four days from this night, you may need to begin your search for talent again.

Your most humble and obedient servant,

Opera Ghost

With trepidation in his heart, Firmin Richard called out to Armand Moncharmin from the darkened office. Armand, having reached the end of the hallway, turned toward his companion as if he had naturally been by his side.

"Firmin?" Armand looked about him.

"Come back in here," he whispered, his crooked finger waving.

With a deep sigh, Armand Moncharmin retraced his steps and, before he arrived at the door, heard his partner's loud whisper.

"He's back," Firmin rasped loudly.

"Who? Who are you referring to?"

"Him."

"Him?"

"Him. _Him. _The shade that torments us. Who else?" responded Firmin, a little annoyed at this partner's obtuseness.

"What makes you think…?"

"Here, here is your proof" He waved the letter in frontof Armand. "I found this...in my pocket…now."

"How did it get in your pocket," asked Armand. "Never mind, and what does he want?"

"What does he always want, but money? 20,000 francs by tonight and 80,000 francs in four days."

"Is he mad?"

"Back salary he calls it," said Firmin grimacing.

"We won't hand over a franc…," said Armand, pursing his lips to underline his determination.

Both men jumped when they heard one of the dancers screech.

"No, no, no. Just hand over the money," said Armand as he quickly changed his mind.

"Well, never mind that, let us go see what that scream is about," said Firmin,already on his feet.

Both men left the office to see several people running.

Their secretary, M. Rémy, signaled from down the hall for both men to follow him. He pointed to a gathered group just beyond them. "There, it is. Come, sirs. Little Jammes found Pierre's body behind scenery in the third cellar."

"Dead?" asked Firmin. He wanted to ask what Little Jammes was doing there, but the question left his head before it made it to his mouth.

"A body, sir," said M. Rémy.

"Yes, of course," Firmin replied and looked to Armand. His partner shook his head gravely. Together, they approached the group surrounding the body.

----------------------------------o

Erik had the coachman push the horses at top speed. He kept Christine's anniversary present in his pocket and patted the small lump to reassure himself. His excitement about being with her equaled his terror at missing their anniversary altogether.

His thoughts turned to his companion. Erik hoped she would be happy in her new home. He had never dared broach the subject with Christine, but perhaps now after some time passed… He sighed. It was unlikely Christine would ever understand about his companion. The two women in his life would each remain in their separate abodes. The slim, damp fingers curled around his once more, and he leaned his head on the coach's side. As they left Paris, he had a sensation that when he returned, he would be returning to a city like any other, not home. His stomach knotted with the knowledge that Paris would never belong to him again. The Opera House would no longer be his.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------oo

Mlle Priola played Maritana in the first performance at the Opéra-Comique in Paris on November 30, 1872.


	35. Chapter 35 A Noble's Tale

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my beta **Busanda** for a great job, as always!

**Thank you** to my faithful and patient readers and reviewers for reading. My area is still experiencing the problems associated in switching from one Cable Company to another. I have been reduced to random WiFi hot spots. If you get a chance please leave a review, it feeds the muse!

**Chapter 35**

**A Noble's Tale**

The new addition to his stable had not completely adjusted yet, and so he was kept separate from the others. He would get extra attention while he became accustomed to his new home. The animal was in a small enclosure for his own safety and ease for his trainer. It would take a week, perhaps less, and he would be allowed to join the others. The stallion was far from being considered an old horse but certainly past his racing prime. He might have had another race left in him, perhaps even a miraculous win. Or he might have been hurt, striving to take his place at the front as a champion was wont to do. Louis attempted to stroke him, but the animal reared his head willfully. A champion, his seed was worth a fortune. Louis had willingly paid it, knowing he would multiply that investment many times over.

It wasn't until Louis took over the estate that it had flourished. His father had ruled through fear, using his deformity as an excuse for his cruelty. He did not have dedicated workers who felt invested in the land; rather he had peons who dare not disobey for fear of being flayed alive. Louis wanted knowledgeable workers who loved the estate that provided all their needs. He had top trainers and skilled grooms for his horses. The workers at the Rouxville estate loved working for him; the pay was high and the work reasonable. It was the best deal going in northern France. He accepted their allegiance, as long as it came without question.

His stock was the best in the region. He openly admired his thoroughbreds. They were beauties. Strong, lean, powerful, all attributes he considered applied to himself as well. A low laugh emerged from his lips. The stallion turned to look at him and allowed himself to be stroked. The nostrils flared and a pleased neigh escaped the beast's lips. Yes, he was used to being the center of attention, the favored. Louis understood the steed completely. Getting old was hard on a horse, too. The same question ruminated in his head again. Since so many depended on him, would he be able to depend on Erik not to let their people down? His son had already expressed disinterest in their businesses, but would he rally when the time came or would he let everything go to hell as so many in their class did. Fortunes were ignored, drunk, and gambled away; money and fine jewels tucked into swollen bosoms in bordellos. Friends suddenly appeared from everywhere to help spend the riches. He might have gone that way himself, but his love for the estate was too great. He had enjoyed late nights, women, and spending money; he enjoyed a quiet ride on their lands even more. Even when Elisa was alive, he had enjoyed being home.

At the time, Louis was never sure why his father had rushed his wedding. Was it because of the incident with Cécile or was it for pure lucre? Analiese Margrethe Sofie Holstein-Kassel, the granddaughter of an impoverished Danish duke had just turned sixteen; Louis was seventeen on their wedding day. They met the week of the wedding and before the ceremony exchanged just under a dozen words. The union was of mutual benefit to the families and the crown. One gained status, one fattened their coffers. The French king, Louis-Philippe, gained a much-needed ally. The Marquis du Bourg-Denis gained the king's favor. Years later, Louis heard that the king had needed the alliance, and the marquis had offered his only son as the sacrificial lamb. Almost overnight, their lands had doubled. Ultimately, he, Louis, would benefit from the deal.

Analiese was a beauty, with long blond hair and large brown eyes. Her new husband was attracted to her, but he was unable to overlook her personality and found her cold, pedantic, and boring. Her conversation had revolved around gossip and the latest fashion. She demanded his presence so that she could engage in the activities she enjoyed. They had barely made it to the marriage bed when they both silently agreed that it was not to their mutual satisfaction. The marquis sought to appease her by allowing her to bring her favorite horse and its trainer from Denmark. The trainer was a burly redhead who was dedicated to the animal and its mistress.

Louis enjoyed being with much more interesting women. In order to indulge himself properly, he bought a house on the outskirts of Paris. Years later, it would house the Persian and his daughter-in-law, Christine, during Erik's rampage. The house was alternatively visited or occupied by ladies from various European noble families. The clandestine nature of the home saved more than a dozen noble ladies' reputations, including Alexa's. During their marriage, he found that jewelry was a great buffer between his activities and his wife's demands.

Analiese had hated being away from Copenhagen. If she had to be in France, then there was no other place save Paris that could recreate her former idyllic life. However, her eventual exile from society at the Rouxville estate changed her from a gossipy young girl to a bitter one who considered herself a prisoner. The couple had seldom been intimate during their two years of marriage. He had felt guilty of his reaction to her and had even pitied the young woman. On a visit to the stables he heard strange noises coming from one of the stalls. Thinking that a thief were attempting to pilfer one of their prize horses Louis marched up to the stall with his sword drawn. On opening the stall he was surprised to see the back of a ginger head buried in his wife's bosom. With a clean swipe of Louis's sword, the horse trainer's body fell to the side. The comtesse was left cradling the severed head while she shrieked. Several workers rushed past him as Louis made his way out the stable. He cursed his weak stomach as he left his dinner on the side of the stables.

The couple had seldom been intimate, during their two years of marriage. By the time Louis noticed her swollen belly, it had been almost a year since he had last touched her. His first instinct had been to beat her, but he had never been able to raise a hand against a woman, and as much as it might be deserved in this case, he balked. Louis informed his father, hoping he would do what Louis could not. Louis stood by when the old marquis visited his daughter-in-law and witnessed the protrusion for himself. A sound of disgust sprang from the back of the marquis' throat. Analiese shivered in her father-in-law's presence. She cried and begged to be allowed to return to her family. A few days later, they were informed of his father's decision.

Louis and Analiese were sent to Paris for a few days of visiting. She was allowed to visit her family and friends. They attended a musical recital at the de Chagny's. Both of the Chagny daughters attended, one sat on her mother's lap the other one was held by her nurse. His godchild, the vicomte Philippe, sat by his side in his finest outfit. Even at that young age, the boy was close to him. Louis loved the admiring glances from the boy. Analiese took the opportunity of their visit in the capital to go shopping. After their return home, Analiese was never allowed off the estate again.

Louis was not home when her pains began. A messenger was sent to his little house. He had rushed back home as he was requested to do. The smell of blood hit him as he entered the room. Never had he seen so much blood. It stained the white starched uniforms worn by the midwife and her assistants. It splattered the walls. It clung to the air.

His eyes went to the small bundle lying by her side. He uncovered it to find a shock of ginger hair topping off a red, pruned face. The pale gray eyes told the rest of the story. Analiese did not say a word to him. She was ashen and looked fatigued. Her tired red-rimmed eyes searched his face looking for consolation. Louis turned away from the room and went straight to the kitchen. Doña Berta offered him a simple meal of soup. He ate on a small table there. The other servants removed themselves to allow the young comte privacy. He wanted to pity her, to comfort her, but was not able to feel it. She was a stranger to him, so he drank his soup and put her bloodied form out of his mind.

Doña Berta sat opposite the young man. "It is not in your hands, you know," she said in her thick Spanish accent. "Your father will take care of everything." He sighed and nodded.

Next morning, he awoke to loud voices coming from downstairs. When he descended, he found that his wife was dead and the child had been stolen. A ginger-haired stablehand had apparently tried to stop the bandits and had perished. Gendarmes from the town and Rouen combed the estate and local areas. A band of local gypsies was blamed in the end. He could not understand why his father insisted that everyone should believe the child had been abducted. Why not just say it had died right after birth with its mother? Why leave an open window?

After the strangers had left their home, he walked up to his father. His eyes asking all the questions he dared not voice.

"Will I always have to clean up after you?" His father held a glass with a dark liquid. With a swift move of his head, he knocked back the drink and glared at his son.

"How is this my fault?"

"You could have made an effort. She was lovely."

"She was a slut."

For a moment, Louis thought his father was about to strike him, but the marquis simply growled and said, "Useless." The word would have crushed him, but it was not the first time he had heard his father say that about him.

"Had you done your job properly all this unpleasantness could have been avoided. Obviously, I cannot even trust you to impregnate your own wife. Did you need a tutor for that too, Louis?" he spat viciously.

"Why bother? You took care of everything, didn't you, father?"

"That whore could not be allowed to shame our name. And that aberration she birthed could not be allowed to usurp the place of my flesh and blood."

Louis looked at him more intently, sickened and confused. "Your flesh…Cécile…there was…there…was a…child? My child?" The marquis did not answer, but Louis did see a blaze deep in the sunken eyes.

Louis felt ill. Had his father taken care of that, too? "Cécile…she…I. Father, you knew…you knew?" Still there was no answer, and he could not tell his father's expression through the mask. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"My grandson will be found and eventually brought here. Not too soon, so we can cover up the differences in ages. He will be yours and Analiese's lost child. Quite frankly, I do not believe you will engender another child."

Louis recalled finding himself in his chamber next. Doña Berta bathing his face.

"It will be all right, little one. Do not fret," she smiled and continued soothing his forehead. He leaned into her touch and wept the tears he had not wept since the day he took his wedding vows.

He was twenty years old on the day of his wife's funeral. Louis was numb, pale, and had to be held up. Her family offered him solace and swore to help with the search for the child. He was barely aware when the casket was lowered to the ground, his mind on Cécile and their child. His father's betrayal wrenched his gut and sickened him.

When they returned to the château after the funeral, the quest for his child, his child with a beautiful maid whom he had loved a lifetime ago, was on.

-----------------------------------------------------o

"I'm sorry, my lord, the tongue is busted and I have no replacement. 'ave ta wait till mornin'." The older man looked at Erik red faced.

He turned on his seat to his companion. She was already shaking her head in agreement. He left the compartment without a word.

"Prepare one of the horses. I need to get there tonight."

"But, sir, I don't 'ave a proper mount."

"Do the best you can and get it ready," his impatience, obvious in his voice.

"Christ…my lord, if you get hurt…your father will 'ave my head." The coachman wrung his hands but obeyed.

"He'll have your head anyway for not bringing along spares," he said. "Healthier for you my father have your head than I, believe me," Erik chuckled. He saw the man pale and swallow hard. _Mmm, he's heard gossip. Good_.

"Don't let anyone into the carriage. I have important things in there."

"No, of course not, my lord."

Erik looked back only once as he left the carriage behind. _Please, hold on tight. Keep safe, my little one_. He checked his mask and urged his horse into a full gallop.

----------------------------------------------------------------oo

Yes, yes, lots of Erik and Christine coming up in the next chapter!


	36. Chapter 36 Old Tricks

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my beta **Busanda** for being so faithful!

**Thank you** to my patient readers and reviewers for reading. Due to interference from "life" the story was delayed but is back. If you get a chance please leave a review, it feeds the muse!

**Chapter 36**

**Old Tricks**

The morning's weather was mild, but, by midday, the warming sun made the upper rooms in the chateau stuffy. Raoul wandered out of his room in search of a cooling breeze. As he took a stroll through the chateau's second floor, he found that, as expected, Philippe had already left and was probably walking around the stables with Louis. Since he was a child, Philippe had brought him to stay here on many occasions, however, Raoul had never before had the inclination to explore the place. As he began his wanderings, he discovered that many of the rooms were locked; those that were not revealed lush interiors with carved mahogany furniture and rich tapestries in different period styles. The house reflected Louis's reserved taste. The Chagny home was similarly decorated, although it had more of a Parisian touch.

Had his life remained on a normal course and not become a nightmare, he would have been able to do as he wanted and married Christine. Had that been the case on this morning, they might have been walking through these very halls as visiting newlyweds. _Has Christine truly gone mad, or is he exerting a spell over her mind?_How many times had he asked himself that question over the past year?He shook his head as if to clear it of her image and his painful thoughts as he descended the stairs toward the first floor.

As he roamed the first floor, he eventually made his way into the kitchen. The area was immaculate. Steam hovered over large pots. The sizzling of pans and the pungent odors reminded him that he had skipped breakfast. A variety of goods were stacked on shelves in cartons and colored ceramic jars. Large open boxes held new potatoes, carrots, onions and green beans; sacks overflowed with various dry beans. Bertha gave him a little smile and continued giving orders to her crew. Knowing Louis's penchant for perfection, he was not surprised to find the kitchen so orderly. Raoul discovered that part of the floor toward the back was worn in a square pattern. He approached the area and knocked twice with his heel. An expected, a hollow thud answered him.

His fingers searched around the edges of the floor boards, gingerly searching for the magic trick that would spring open the trapdoor. He suppressed a shudder as he was reminded of the trapdoor through which he had dropped into the hell made by the Phantom at the opera house. His memory of the searing heat in the torture chamber made him begin to perspire. At the time, making use of the lone iron tree with its liberating noose had crossed his mind. Had it not been for his fear for Christine, his own resolve might not have been enough to keep him from playing into the Phantom's scheme.

"Raoul, Raoul." He straightened up at his brother's call and left the kitchen to meet Philippe.

"You must come and see the new stallion. It just arrived. It's magnificent."

Raoul followed Philippe's voice out to the stables.

--o

Dinner had been a tense affair. Christine dabbed at the corners of her eyes as she pushed the food around on her plate. Louis had been serious and preoccupied. Philippe had tried to add levity to the occasion and made a few jokes, which Alexa found amusing and which Louis had acknowledged by rolling his eyes. Finally, the conversation turned to the new acquisition of the Rouxville stables and Louis's plans for the stud. Every time Raoul saw Christine's watery eyes, he damned the Phantom. Yet, although it upset Christine, he had been glad that the Phantom had not shown up for their anniversary dinner. _Let her see how little the monster really cares for her. _He met her eyes a few times and gave her an encouraging smile. She had tried to return them and upturned her lips, while her eyes belied the gesture.

After dinner, while the others made their way to the front room, he meandered toward the kitchen again. It was silent now. Pots and utensils hung quietly from hooks. All the surfaces looked spotless. A young woman sat dipping bread into a bowl. She stood up quickly when she noticed him, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Vicomte, may I help you."

"No, no, I am fine. Please sit down and finish your meal."

"If there is anything...?"

"I am fine," he nodded to her.

Raoul walked away and toward the back of the kitchen. He found the worn square. This time his fingertips quickly felt a dip on a floorboard, which, when pressed, allowed him to lift the trapdoor.

He hesitated but decided to explore the underground area, certain that Louis would not consider it an intrusion. He grabbed a tin of matches and descended the stairs. He attempted to look around him by the light of the match, but it burned down and left him in the dark. He lit another match and lit a nearby lamp. The lamp's light flickered brightly, revealing a central foyer with several doorways leading from it. The doorways led to dark hallways beyond. He could see that the old ramparts were adorned by fading frescoes of hunting scenes depicting impossibly virile stags and their aristocratic pursuers either on horseback or on foot. Raoul was tempted but did not dare travel far from the main foyer for fear of getting lost.

_Is this the new labyrinth into which the Phantom disappears? _His heartbeat picked up speed in his chest. _Could the monster be hiding down here right now waiting until Philippe and I leave? _Raoul stubbed his toe on a stone bench and cried out, cursing himself for his carelessness.

He peeked into one of the doorways. His lamp revealed a dark rock-faced tunnel. Raoul quickly pulled back. _Philippe is willing to give the Phantom a chance. Why can't I? _Not for the Phantom's sake but for Louis's. Before they left Paris, Philippe had felt the need to have a _brotherly_ _talk_ with him. "If the Phantom is Louis's son, and Louis loves his son, then the Chagnys _have _to accept it. There is no other course." There could be no rift between them and Philippe's godfather, friend, and confidant, ever. Bitterly, Raoul grimaced, _yes, for everyone's peace of mind; I am to forget that he nearly roasted me then allowed me to almost drown. Of course, the issue with Christine, the theft of my fiancée and my subsequent broken heart is a moot point. _Since they had arrived at the chateau, Louis talked about Erik as if he were an amazing find for all of humanity. _Poor Erik, so clever, so talented!_ Raoul snorted. He scowled, remembering how Christine limited her comments about Erik when Raoul was in the room. A dreamy look, stealing over her face whenever Louis mentioned the monster, said more than Raoul wished to acknowledge. His resentment at the unfair turn of events hardened his young face to make him look older than his twenty-two years.

Suddenly, Raoul heard the same door he had used to come down creak. _I should not have left the trapdoor propped open. _As a shaft of light lit the steps, he heard descending footsteps on the stairs. _The monster? _Quickly, Raoul hid behind a column.

"Erik? Are you down there?" Christine's voice carried down to him. He did not say a word as he knew he should have, revealing his identity. Instead, he shuffled his feet and pressed further into the wall. This drew her further down the steps. He could almost hear Philippe's disappointed sigh over his ungentlemanly behavior. _If I have to become a cad in order to have a few moments alone with her, then, let it be so._

"Erik? Erik, I can hear you walking around down there. Please answer me and stop this game." The yearning in her voice irritated Raoul, and he stepped away from the wall as she reached the last step.

"Not him, Christine, it is me," he said, coming out from behind the column.

"Oh, Raoul, you frightened me!" Her eyes widened and her hand went up to flutter at her waist, pressing there as she caught her breath.

He felt guilty about startling her and sought to distract her. "Remember when we used to play hide and seek?"

"Of course I recall. You always cheated!" She smiled, a little of the old mischievous girl in her eyes.

"Did not!"

"Did, and you know it. I saw you peaking." Their eyes met, and they laughed companionably.

"Then _you_ must have been looking yourself if you saw me!" The lamp caught her blush. Her smile broadened, relaxing her features,

"Wait! There's no penalty for keeping my eyes open, I was the one hiding!" She gave him a mock scowl.

"I suppose you are right then," he smiled. Raoul wanted the moment to last but found he was unable to stop from questioning her.

"The Phantom…" He saw her eyes cloud with uncertainty. _Would it kill me to say the man's name?_ "Erik…is he hiding from us or is he truly away?" It riled him to have that name pass over his tongue.

"Why would my husband need to hide from anyone here?"

"Have you…missed him terribly?"

"No, Raoul, I have not," she answered calmly. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Erik is so much a part of me that I still feel him with me. I miss being with him, talking to him; but he is here." She pointed to the center of her chest.

His smile gone, his eyes inspected her face. "Very pretty words, Christine, but then you were always good with pretty words and promises." He saw her flinch and hated himself for using that tone of voice with her.

"Raoul…I am sorry." Her reddened cheeks made him feel guilty again. _I should be making her happy during the stolen moments I have with her._

Raoul inched closer, stopping when he saw her stiffen. "We still need to talk…about us."

"Not down here." She began to move away from him. He grabbed for her hand, knowing he should not touch her. Christine jerked away, and he used the momentum to swing her to him by the arm, leaving her lips a hairsbreadth from his. The old Raoul would have asked her if he could kiss her, but then the old Raoul had not been lied to and made a mockery of. The old Raoul had been a gentle boy, in love for the first time in his life. The only thing that remained of the old Raoul was that he was still prepared to fight the Phantom himself for the chance for a life with Christine. He shrugged off his misgivings and held her tighter, closer to him. He accepted that the old Raoul was long gone and in his place was a bitter young man with too many years left to live. His fingers carded through her hair catching on a comb.

"Nice touch. A gift from him, I suppose?"

"Stop, Raoul! Please?"

He brushed his lips against hers. Christine turned her head, and his lips landed on her cheek. He attempted to reposition his head to hold her head still, but Christine managed to pull away from him, run up the steps, and without looking back, slam the door behind her.

Would she consider that he had kissed her or was the contact too ephemeral to be considered of any importance to her? Raoul touched his lips and smiled. Christine had promised herself to him first, and he would not let her forget that promise. She was part of his childhood and, then, of his becoming a man. She would be a part of his future. _This is not like her at all. It is not in her nature to want to be with a monstrous being. Who knows her better than I, who knew her as a child and shared her first kisses?_ While in Paris, he had heard that the Phantom could hypnotize others to do his bidding. In all likelihood, the monster had her in a thrall. He would accept the status quo for now while he bargained for a better position, but eventually his own pure love would win her over. Life would balance out so that in the end, she would be his. He reaffirmed his commitment as her savior. _I will never abandon you to him or stop protecting you. I swear this, Christine. _

Raoul turned toward the stairs when a shiny glint hit his eye from the floor. As he bent to pick up whatever it was, he heard a noise in the far reaches of the labyrinth, startling him. He quickly straightened up, looking around, and hid behind the same column as before. Almost indiscernible footsteps were fast approaching him. He did not need to guess to whom they might belong. If Christine had locked the door behind her, he would be trapped. The footsteps stopped, and two tiny yellow lights were visible in the distance. He recalled seeing lights like those the day he fell into the Phantom's trap at the opera house. Raoul made his way toward the staircase as silently as possible. He stepped on something that made a loud crack reverberate through the foyer, and the footsteps were on the move again. Feeling a presence approaching, he took the stairs two steps at a time. He grasped the door handle and twisted; it gave easily. Raoul stepped up and through, closing the trapdoor firmly behind him.

--o

Erik had not ridden a horse in months, and, by the time he saw the approach to the estate, his thigh muscles were ready to go into spasms. The light drizzle had finally percolated through his clothing making his joints stiff. He slowed down and passed the first gates. The guards waved and nodded respectfully from their enclosure. At a less grueling pace, he continued and turned into the old path heading straight for their home. Erik dismounted stiffly and tied the horse to the fence at the front of the cottage. Slowly, he made his way up to the front door, conscious of every muscle he had to use and biting back a groan. As he opened the door, the musty odor of abandonment hit him. How long had he been gone? Three days? Four? Even without calling out, he knew she wasn't there. _Where are you my love?_ Of course, her absence was a good thing. He should have told her to go to the chateau before he left. With company, she was safer and happier at the main house. Erik walked into their bedroom and began to undress. He wanted to wash before he joined her. _Too much time away from my darling!_ He wanted to hold her in his arms.

Refreshed from his ride, Erik opened the trapdoor in the mud room leading into the tunnels. He walked down the tunnels reveling in their complexity. He began to relax as he neared the chateau. He wasn't certain but thought he heard voices. _Who would dare travel my tunnels?_ The slam of a door alarmed him further. He quickened his steps, going toward the disturbance.

In the distance, he clearly heard footsteps and a strange noise. _There is someone down here! Could it be thieves again? _Keeping to the shadows, he hurried toward the noise. He patted a small lump in his cape. As the intruder passed a lamp, he saw him. Erik froze. _The boy!_ The boy back in France. The boy in his tunnels. The boy here on the estate. _Christine! _He drew the silk cord from his cape and shaped it in his hands. To his chagrin, he saw the boy ascend the steps and go through the trapdoor, re-entering the chateau.

Erik stopped at the foot of a large column as the trapdoor slammed close. As he approached the staircase, he noticed something on the floor. He picked up a mangled silver comb with five small sapphires. _Christine's!_ This was one of a pair of combs he had given her shortly after their wedding. She told him they were her favorites. _How did it end up…?_ He did not allow himself to end the thought. An electric shock passed through his entire body. With shaking hands, he jammed the broken comb into his coat pocket and walked away from the chateau's underground entrance.

_**Fool! She was here, with him!**_

"_No, no, no!" _

_**Quite the wild encounter, judging by the state of the comb.**_

_"Shut up. I won't listen to you. She is faithful to me. She is, she is. I know she is." _He doubled back along the tunnel toward another exit.

--o

Emerging through the old castle keep, he crossed the short distance to the chateau above ground. Erik hesitated at the front door as he was greeted by servants. Another servant opened the parlor door for him and there sat his wife between Alexa and Teodora. Her head was bent over, and her hands were busy flying over an embroidery frame. _You were wrong, you see. My wife is here safe, guarded._

He took in the other occupants in the room. The boy sat on a settee on the side of the room. His father and the boy's brother each sat on a large chair holding nearly empty glasses, while engaged in a vigorous conversation. He forced a deep breath into his lungs as he entered the room and all eyes fell on him. Erik forced his eyes away from Christine toward his father. Warm golden eyes met his; a grin spread over the even features.

"Welcome back, son," Louis said, as he got up and mockingly cuffed him on the neck.

Christine gasped and jumped up letting out a little yelp. "I knew it. Oh Erik!" She flew into his arms.

Erik held her tightly as his eyes rose to meet Raoul's. The young man held his gaze boldly. How he hated the boy! He hated the lean chiseled body, the pretty face. He noted the deep scowl between the boy's blue eyes. Philippe sat on the edge of his seat as if ready to spring up if the need arose, his eyes on his brother. Erik closed his fingers securely around his lasso. His left arm lowered to envelop Christine's waist pulling her closer to him. He wished they were alone, if only for a moment.

Everywhere her body made contact, he relaxed. Her warmth seeped into his cool skin, warming him. Her pupils dilated, and her round eyes looked into his. He held her to him, standing closer to her than was appropriate and not caring. His mouth ghosted over her ear. "Missed you." She turned in his arms, and he saw a shiny comb in her hair matching the broken one he had found. His stomach clenched, and a headache began to grip his skull above his eyes.

"Erik…"

"Happy anniversary, darling," he said louder than he needed to and then separated a little from her. He looked into her eyes; searching her expression for a sign of betrayal, he could see nothing but her genuine happiness at seeing him. His stomach eased a little. _I will not jump to conclusions. She will tell me the truth in her own time._

_**But will she give you the details? **_

_Go away! _

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Chagnys rise. Making an effort, he let her go and greeted the two other women in the room. Erik made sure to greet Teo before he greeted Alexa, making the young peasant girl blush and Alexa huff. He then turned to face the Chagnys. Philippe walked up to him and stuck his hand out, sporting a grin, well-framed by his mustache.

"Good to see you, Erik. Hope you had a good trip. Louis has been bending our ears about your prowess on the piano. Love to hear you play."

"My pleasure, sir, but only if my dear wife accompanies me with her voice." He expected her to protest, but Christine smiled.

"The pleasure will be ours." Erik was surprised to see sincerity in Philippe's eyes. The man had not even glanced at the mask.

"I'm sure Christine will enjoy flexing her voice again. Perhaps tomorrow evening?" Louis interjected, "And we'll celebrate the occasion of your anniversary then."

"As you wish, father."

He felt two strong thumps on his back. "That's the spirit."

Walking up to stand at Philippe's side, Raoul also extended his hand. _The boy has been well-trained by his brother. A wonderful weakness to be exploited! _Erik took the proffered hand and shook it with force. Raoul returned the handshake just as vigorously. For a moment, it appeared as if neither man would let go, but they let go simultaneously, continuing to keep an eye on each other. Philippe put his hand on his younger brother's sleeve, pulling him away slightly.

Louis maneuvered himself between the two men. "I trust your trip to…"

"Paris."

"I trust it went well."

"It was productive. I was able to tie up several loose ends. However, the return was somewhat dramatic." Turning to Christine, he added, "I will explain, and perhaps, then, my wife will understand my delay on our anniversary."

"Did you feel ill?" He felt her eyes searching him from head to toe.

"No, no, I am fine, my dearest."

"You said dramatic..." He kissed the top of her head.

"The drama had naught to do with my health. The carriage broke down on our way here. I left the coachman with my baggage, and I continued the trip on horseback." Turning to Louis, he added, "I think your carriage needs a …tongue, I believe?"

"I'll send Emmanuel right now."

"My man stayed behind with the coachman, they should be fine. I had to get back tonight no matter what." He looked down at Christine and smiled.

"I hope you were careful, Erik. It was not that long ago you were..."

"I kept myself in one piece," he cut her off.

"Where exactly did you leave the coach, Erik?" Louis asked, walking toward the door.

Erik gave Christine's waist a small hug and turned to follow Louis. Christine sat next to Alexa. Just before leaving, he noticed Alexa lean toward Christine and whisper.

"Christine, darling, that's not the way we've been practicing greetings. You don't throw yourself at your husband. Remember your position." Alexa reproached.

"Oh, I apologize. I was so happy to see him…I didn't realize."

Erik stopped in his tracks. He turned toward Alexa, met her eyes, and sent his voice only to her. "Never, never presume to tell my wife how to greet me or how to show her affection for me," Erik growled deep in her ear. Alexa sat up, eyes wide. She alternated between looking around and looking back to Erik.

In the same tone, he added, "Not if you value your skin."

"I meant no…"

In a colder, lower voice, he continued until the last words floated away, "Madame, I do not care what you meant. Now move away from my wife…in all haste!"

Alexa gasped.

"Alexa, are you all right? You are so...pale," Christine asked the fading woman.

Teo rubbed Alexa's hands. "She doesn't look well...and her hands are cold."

"Perhaps," said Erik, "all she needs is to lie down."

A deep scowl marred Raoul's young face. "This is very strange; she was fine a moment ago."

"Do not worry brother, beautiful women are like that." A tiny smile appeared on Alexa's lips as she looked up toward Philippe. "They are fine one moment and then…" Philippe snapped his fingers. "Erik is right, she should just go and lie down," concluded Philippe.

"I really should leave...go to my room," Alexa said, nodding but not moving.

From the door Louis said to her, "Don't be stubborn, Alexa, go lie down." Shaking his head, he left the room.

Erik locked eyes with the tight-jawed vicomte for a moment then turned to follow Louis out the door.

--o

By the time Louis and Erik strode back into the room, Alexa had left. Louis began a relaxed conversation with Philippe about the state of French roads and civil irresponsibility. Christine sat wrinkling her nose at something in her embroidery and talking about it with Teo.

Erik walked over to the two women, and Teo moved over, allowing Erik to sit next to Christine. Christine set her embroidery down and poured him tea; he sat with the group, cup in hand, as if it were the most ordinary thing. Slowly, he sipped his tea, but with Raoul in the room, he felt so tense that the tendons in his neck and shoulders hurt. Erik could feel the boy's eyes on him, on his mask. He turned to Christine, and she smiled warmly at him before turning back to her needlework. The comb and a thousand questions burned in his mind. His head throbbed.

"Let's go home," she whispered in his ear.

He nodded, feeling his head would explode.

"I'll go up and get my things."

After a short while of polite conversation, Erik and Christine made their excuses. Pulling her close to his side, they left the chateau.

--oo


	37. Chapter 37 Celebrations

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my beta **Busanda** as always she has done a wonderful job.

**The story continues! **If you get a chance please leave a review, it feeds the muse!

**Chapter 37**

**Celebrations**

High winds swirled around them as Erik and Christine made their way from the chateau. For the moment, the rain had abated and they were able to walk at a leisurely pace. He drew his arm over her shoulders in an attempt to keep her warm, her body molded to his. Servants had been sent ahead with her bags. He was grateful to have a few minutes alone with her as they made their way home. They strolled in silence, stopping once when she dropped a small bag she had kept with her. He picked up her bag without breaking their stride; he could not help a smile grazing his lips. _I'm home_. They made a turn onto the road leading to their cottage; thick bushes hid them from the main house. He was tempted to press a kiss to her lips right there under the dark skies, but he noticed movement near their cottage. With a snort of displeasure, he tightened his arm around her and hurried his steps. A servant opened the door as they approached. Earlier, when Erik had returned from his trip to Paris, their home had smelled rank and musty. Now, with Christine by his side, the small cottage smelled fresh, and the rooms felt airy and welcoming. He dropped her bag in the foyer and put an arm around her waist, drawing her close.

"Happy anniversary, Darling," he nuzzled into her neck. Her tense body alerted him that something was wrong. He had expected her to return the hug and hoped for a kiss. He straightened as she snapped her head up and met his eyes, her face blank and unreadable.

"Where did you go, Erik? Were you really in Paris? And why did you return so late on our anniversary day no less?"

He flinched at her low even tone, the smile dropping from his lips. "The damned carriage broke down and to make sure I got back on time I took one of the horses..."

"So I heard you say," she snapped. "Where did you go, Erik?" she asked, disentangling herself from him. "You just left and said not a word to me."

"I realized my folly after I had left..." With a quiet sigh he watched her screw up her eyes, not in passion as he had anticipated but in smoldering anger.

"Do you have any idea...any idea at all how I felt when everyone kept asking me where you went and...and _I, your wife,_ knew no more than they did?" Her pinched face and the excessive shine to her eyes made his heart thump against his throat. Her warm welcome at the chateau had disarmed him. He had thought everything was fine between them. Now, he felt sick.

"Christine...," he started cautiously.

"It hurts me, Erik, to think that I mean so little to you. That I am no more to you than..."

"Everything...everything is what you are to me. Everything I could imagine! No one, nothing could mean more..." He struggled to keep the panic from his voice. _I could lose her!_

"I was certain you would be back last night. Then this morning," she paused. "I thought, surely you would be back at any moment, that we would spend our day together, be fêted like any other couple on their special day." She wrung her hands. "I had Bertha prepare a special dinner for our anniversary."

"Sorry."

"It is a year since we were married. We have been through so much, and I thought, hoped, you would consider the day worthy of celebrating."

"I am so sorry."

"You are sorry, and so am I. But still, I thank God I was not alone today, or I would have drowned on my tears. Your dear father, Alexa, Philippe, and Raoul shared our anniversary dinner with me tonight."

He could not help a snort upon hearing the boy's name.

"Don't! Don't you dare say a word against him, Erik! He was here with me when you were not. It was not Raoul who made me cry on this day!" her voice trembled.

_She wants him again! _

"You are glad he was here? That…"

"Yes. Yes, I am very glad he was here. So not one word against him! Not one." An angry scowl was planted firmly on her face. "You have no right. Raoul could have said many things against you today. I am sure he thought them, but he refrained, making my ordeal…bearable."

_She defends him. She defends the boy against me!_ The broken comb burned in his pocket. _Did she turn to him in her pain? Pain I caused by being dense and selfish._ _Did he take her down to the cellar and hold her while she wept? _He pushed back the thoughts. _No!_ His hand reached out to the wall for support as his composure disintegrated, and, almost without breath in his lungs, he managed to squeeze a few words out. "I acted…as if I were still the miserable bachelor I was before...you."

How selfish and foolish he had been. Like a drowning man, he needed non-existent air. He was going to lose her on this night of their anniversary. His chest began to hurt. To live without her would be unimaginable. Before, when he had her, some semblance of existence was possible, but now…_I cannot lose her. To be alone again__—__no!_

Erik felt weak and wanted nothing more than to be on his knees in front of Christine.

"My apologies," he gasped, beginning to pant, struggling to keep air in his lungs. "I...need you." It hurt his lungs to get the words out. He wanted to touch her, hold on to her with the last of his strength. The feeling that he was about to collapse overtook him, and he attempted to balance himself; one hand gripped her shoulder, the other braced against the wall. His throat worked to get the words out. "Do...do not...leave Erik."

Her hand reached out and rested lightly on his sleeve. Her face softened. "Calm down, please," she whispered moving closer to him. "I would not leave you, Erik. You are my husband and I love you. But do not disappear like that again." She hunched her shoulders slightly. "I am not one of your musical compositions. You cannot put me away and take me out when it pleases you." The hurt in her eyes stabbed at him, his heart strained against his chest, but her words allowed him to take in a labored breath.

_She will not leave me! She is angry but she will not leave me!_ Erik shook his head, picked up the hand resting on his sleeve and pressed his lips to her wedding ring.

"Forgive, Erik?" he murmured, still panting a little, eyes begging.

The beginning of a smile at the corner of her mouth reassured him further. He filled his lungs with fresh air.

"Mmm...perhaps, but how will you make it up to me?" The mischievous smile grew.

He knew his Christine and did not miss her cue. Taking her hand in his trembling one, he led her to the small settee in the sitting room where he collapsed next to her. He took a few deep breaths and began to calm down.

"Were they awful to you? With the questions, I mean."

She nodded vigorously.

"When everyone thought you were not going to show up at all, the tactful lack of questions was worst. I will have you know that your father was quite cross with you for making me cry."

"He adores you."

"As you should,"she poked his chest with her finger. "Now, just how contrite did you say you were?" She arched her eyebrow at him.

"I do adore you, my Christine," he protested.

Erik patted down his jacket until he came to the right pocket. "Will this help?" he asked pulling a black leather pouch out of his pocket. "Close your eyes."

She looked at the pouch with shameless yearning.

"Eyes!" he reminded her, and she screwed her eyes shut like a young child, thick lashes casting a shadow over her cheekbones. Her palms, unconsciously facing up, pressed together in front of her waiting for the delivery of a present. He struggled with himself not to take her into his arms that very moment.

Erik watched her long dark lashes flutter on her cheeks as she struggled with the urge to peek. _Such perfection, and she's mine!_ He shook the last of his fears away and laughed—a short, harsh, sound. He tipped the bag, softly dropping the sizeable gem into her eager hands.

Eyes still closed, she fingered the stone with one hand. "Erik, what is it?" she asked, a smile widening on her lips.

"You can open up now."

Her eyes grew wide as she took in her present.

"Oh, my...so...precious. Oh, Erik. This is…so, so precious," she gasped.

"It is one of the Tears of Constantinople. One of the Sultan's favorite gems, a crown jewel in fact."

"For me?" She pressed the gem to her chest. "I get to keep this?" Her eyes widened in question. "Erik…I…where…how did you...?"

"It was partial payment for my work at the palace." _Which I secured for myself._ "The Sultan was grateful for the work I did for him. I think he meant to repay my efforts in another manner, but I chose this small gem." He saw the radiant sparkle of the ruby as her fingers turned it in several directions.

"The Sultan…is that like a king?"

He nodded and stroked her cheek.

"I'm glad he appreciated your talents."

"As he should; I built a magnificent palace for him."

"Was the palace very large?"

He enjoyed her wide-eyed wonder. "Indeed, more than twice the size of the chateau and its surrounding lands. It was a summer palace built mainly for entertainment."

"What type of entertainment?"

"Well, all sorts. The Sultan was a man of varied tastes."

"But…"

"The Sultan had…concubines."

"Ah…oh!"

"As well as several wives."

Now she looked up thoughtfully. "Would you have liked several wives?"

"I only ever wanted one. And as it is, I am not doing such a good job with the one granted me. I do not believe I would have fared well with more. But had I been born to the culture…"

She blushed. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Did the King…Sultan ever offer you…I mean as part of your payment…did he ever offer you…a woman? I have heard stories..."

"After the palace was complete...I was offered a girl from the harem…she ran away rather than…"

"Were they angry with her for doing that?"

"They found her, and she was…dealt with…not because she rejected me but because she embarrassed the Sultan."

"What did they do to her?"

"She was sent to the guard's house as a plaything."

"That's awful."

"She deserved whatever happened to her there." He shrugged.

"No, no one deserves that."

He snorted softly.

"Though, she was a fool. But I'm glad for her foolishness." She pecked his lips. "You might have fallen in love with her."

"Even as a young man I was discerning. All said and done, she did not fall into my arms, but I fared well all the same."

"The Sultan, he gave you the jewel as a recompense for her."

"No, it was more of a parting gift."

"Only someone as clever as you could ever receive such a royal payment."

"And only you could do it justice my dear. I will have it set for you by the same jeweler who made our wedding rings."

She hugged the gem to her chest. "Thank you. Thank you," she said snuggling into his arms. One hand grabbed at his jacket as she looked up into his eyes. "Erik...please, remove your mask."

_No, no, she has seen the boy too recently._ "Christine, I would prefer…"

"For me. I need to see you. Please?"

How could he deny her? Slowly he pulled the mask off his face, keeping his head down. No matter how often she had seen him, his face remained a horror he preferred to hide from her.

Christine pulled his head up by the chin and kissed him, pressing intensely on his thin lips.

"Thank you, my Erik."

"Only for you," he rasped.

She backed away from him as she dug into her skirt pockets. "My turn now, I want to give you this present first."

"Ah, I could not have been so bad if I get two presents," he said, replacing his mask. She shook her head a little but allowed him his comfort.

"I have it in my hand. Look." She beamed at him and shook a closed fist in the air.

Erik chuckled, and Christine opened her hand to reveal a long silver pin. "It was your grandfather's."

He took the silver pin in his own hand. The marquisette stones glittered as he turned it over. "The old humbug had good taste," he smiled. She took it from his hand and pinned it to his cravat.

"Your father gave me the pin...he said it's a family heirloom...I thought it would have a special meaning for you."

"It does. Thank you." He softly kissed the top of her head.

"Don't move, just wait there. Just wait, please."

He watched her walk away from him. A shudder went through him at the thought that only a few minutes ago, she could have walked out of his life because of his thoughtlessness. "What are you up to my love?"

"Wait!"

She rummaged through the bag in the foyer and came back with a small bundle. Christine stood in front of him bouncing on the balls of her feet. "And…this is your second present." She thrust a cloth wrapped bundle at him.

Erik took the bundle and unwrapped it carefully only to reveal a second layer of rough paper. "What is this...?"

"Open it."

He unfolded the paper to expose his present. A smile spread across his lips. He sniffed.

"Molasses cookies!"

"I made them myself," she blurted.

"How? Bertha allowed you into her kitchen?"

"No, silly, that kitchen is...well, I'd be lost there. I came here to make them. I spent all afternoon baking for you…remembering our old home." Guilt stabbed at him again, and he attempted to put his arms around her, but she hedged away. "Of course, patisserie may not be an appropriate anniversary present for a count...so, if you prefer, I can always take it back?" she teased, grabbing a corner of his package.

He tugged his present away from her fingers. "You are putting yourself in danger, my wife. I will defend my valuables!" He stepped toward her as she took half a step back. He loved the sweet flirty smile on her lips. _Lips that are mine and mine alone! _

"As if you would," she retorted, standing her ground and putting her hands on her hips.

"Do not ever underestimate me, Christine." He took a cookie and bit into the delicacy slowly, lowering his head and turning a little away from her.

"Well? Do you like them? Have I lost my touch?"

"These are just like the ones you used to make for me at home...our old home," he corrected himself with a sigh.

"We made some wonderful memories there, didn't we?"

He turned away again and put the rest of the cookie in his mouth. He chewed slowly savoring his treat.

"Would you like one, Christine?" She stared at him, mouth dropping slightly. "You seem surprised by my offer. I will have you know that I do have manners."

"The way you have acted in the past...oh, never mind," she smiled. "I thank you, and, no, I will not take any, but I do promise to make them often. That smell should be a part of our new home." Her smile broadened as she looked around her.

He turned away, not wanting her to see how her words affected him. Near the window, he looked into the darkness. He could make out the shape of the willow by the side of the pond, its branches whipped by the wind into startling shapes. _How does it happen that a monster is loved?_ He brushed against the window sill and felt the comb in his pocket. When he turned around, she stood staring at him lovingly. He wanted to remember her there in their home with that sweet look on her face, gazing at him as if he mattered so much to her. Not for a moment did he doubt her sincerity. _I must burn her image in my mind before he takes her away. It is bound to happen one day. She will tire of living with a selfish monster, and then she will leave and Erik will be alone again._ The thought shook him to the core, but he was as convinced of it as the fact that he was the most talented living musician of his time.

_______________oo


	38. Chapter 38 A New Composition

**Black Despair**©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, Philippe, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my wonderful readers and reviewers. Thank you to my beta **Busanda**! If you get a chance please leave a review, it feeds the muse!

Chapter 38

**A New Composition**

Next morning, he made them a simple breakfast of toast, cheese and Chinese oranges. As always, after they had been intimate, she was shy and sat quietly at the table. Her eyes darted between her tea and his long fingers as they drummed the table.

"Did you sleep well, my dear?" His eyes raked over her as if she could be hiding an injury from him.

"Yes, Erik."

"We have much to do this morning," he said taking a sip of his tea. "The coach did not arrive last night as I expected, so it should be here soon. I packed the few trinkets of yours I found in your bedroom at the house. I did not know if you wanted them. I also packed many of my old books. I took the ones I have not seen in the chateau library."

"I should like to see more of our things around us."

"Would you prefer to spend the day here relaxing? I can ask my father to send Teodora…"

"No, that will not be necessary."

"We can both stay…"

"Erik, you said you had things to do."

"Yes, however…"

"I have things to do as well. I am going to the chateau with you." She put her cup down and wiped her mouth.

_How eagerly she said that. She can't wait to see the boy this morning. _"After what I put you through yesterday, I think it a good idea for you to stay here today and rest."

"I want everyone to see how happy we are."

"Everyone?" An exasperated frown deepened between his eyes.

"You really have to trust in my love. You are my husband and I love you, Erik." She took a sip of her tea. "You must get used to seeing Raoul." To see how easily that name slipped from her lips was more than he should have to bear. "The way your father feels about the Chagnys…well, Raoul and Philippe are, in a sense, part of his family. They will always be around."

_Always, is a long time my wife; other arrangements may become necessary. _Hekept his smirk to himself. "I need time, Christine…to accept his presence in our lives."

"But you will try?" she asked taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

"I will try for as long as I need to." He held her hand and began to hum a tune.

"I have not heard that before, Erik," she smiled.

"It is a new composition. It is far from complete but I hope to have need for it soon."

She looked at him in confusion, breaking off another piece of toast and putting it in her mouth.

"Perhaps…yes, I will add lyrics. They will cry when they hear my music and your voice. As soon as I complete the piece, we will begin to practice."

"They?" She waited for his answer but when no response was forthcoming, she shrugged her shoulders. "It makes me happy when you compose." She smiled and pushed the last piece of toast into her mouth.

"Don't stuff your mouth, my dear, it is most unbecoming."

She giggled and continued to chew. She slurped her tea.

"Sorry," she mumbled to a roll of his eyes and strangled another giggle behind her hand.

She curved her finger and faked a tickle to his ribs. He smiled and she blew him a kiss. _His wife!_

-----------------------------------o

By midmorning the coach had not arrived, and he spent most of the morning wandering through the tunnels and found that nothing had been tampered with. The light dust covering was slightly disturbed in front of the steps leading up to the chateau's kitchen. Large male steps showed clearly in the area but did not lead away from there. He saw no evidence that the boy had been in the tunnels long or that they had been…_No! I will not have those thoughts._

A few minutes later Erik peeked through a small trap door in the dinning room wall and watched Christine while she practiced table etiquette with Alexa. Teo sat by attentively but did not participate. Christine looked adorable as she pretended to sip from a wine goblet.

"Take a drink, Christine, and then lightly touch your lips with the serviette. Like this." The older woman demonstrated.

"Come on, you try it, Teo. Come sit with us." Christine encouraged the other girl.

"The girl won't _ever_ need it, besides, _you_ are my pupil," Alexa said matter-of-factly.

Teo had started to stand, but after Alexa's words she sat back on her seat. The young girl kept a pleasant expression on her face despite a slight blush to her cheeks. Erik was glad to see that though embarrassed, she was not cowed by the older woman.

"Please, Alexa, it would be more fun if Teo joins in."

"I suppose you can learn from watching errors as well," Alexa said sweepingly.

It irked him that the fact that Alexa did not have a cent to her name did nothing to damper her arrogance. He wanted to jump out of his hiding place and throttle her. She would look lovely with a silky lasso around her neck. _You lucky witch! Christine must not know I can keep an eye on her. _He swallowed hard and opted for discretion. As he turned to leave, his hand reached for the latch, but it was caught. He pulled again but the trap door wouldn't budge.

He looked toward the three women again, Christine was staring down and working up a pout to get her way as Alexa attempted to ignore her. Teo stared directly at him. Her eyes widened a bit as their eyes met, but she maintained her composure and looked away.

Teo cleared her throat. "Perhaps my lady Christine would like to rest for a bit?" Teo offered.

"Good idea!" Christine dabbed at her mouth, placed the napkin on the table, and stood up. "I was nearing my fill of _delicate_ sips of water."

"We have been at it for a while. I suppose we could take a break and join the others in the drawing room." Alexa said stepping out of the room first. Teo was last out of the room. She took a quick look over her shoulder just as Erik unlatched the trap door and closed it.

-------------------------------------------o

Erik entered the drawing room a few moments later. He was pleased to note Raoul's absence. His father sat by Philippe joining the younger man in a low chuckle. They each held a hand of cards. He was too far away to hear their comments.

"The coach has not arrived," he groused.

Louis turned to his son. "I forgot to tell you the footman had to return. We sent them the wrong part and now something else is broken, the _perch_ I believe."

"I should go out there to see what is going…"

"That is not a job for you, Erik. I have sent another footman to help the job get done."

"I do not like the thought of my things abandoned by the roadside," he said petulantly.

"Was there anything that could spoil?" Philippe asked.

"No." His tone strained. If he could help it, he preferred not to talk to _any_ Chagny at that moment. The count looked back to his cards.

"They had gotten as far as a coach inn, so they are no longer by the road; and Jean assures me that everything is well secured and guarded by your own man, I believe. Your things are safe, Erik."

He groaned.

"Erik, come sit by me and have a cool drink." Christine extended her hand toward him. Erik kissed her palm and sat beside his wife. With growing discomfiture, he could only hope no one would open the coach cabin.

-------------------------------------------o

Raoul begged a headache and did not make an appearance for dinner. Erik felt more comfortable and took a few sips of champagne for l'apéritif. He even allowed himself to be drawn into a conversation about the latest opera at the opera house. He had a brief, but easy, exchange with Philippe about the mistake the managers were making in not substituting La Carlotta for her understudy.

By bedtime, he was calmer although still annoyed about the missing coach. From the bed, he watched Christine going through her drawers systematically. She then began to peer behind furniture.

"What are you looking for my love?"

"My hair comb. I know I wore it yesterday, but now I can't find it," she whined.

"Where do you think you might have left them?"

"Just the one is missing. One is here in its box. Don't just lay there, Erik, help me look for it."

"When you loosened your hair last night, did you put away both combs?" He remained prone, clenching his fists by his side.

"I don't recall. I must have. You, my dear husband, kept me distracted." She looked at him through the mirror and gave him an alluring smile.

_Please do not lie to me, please_. "Do you recollect if…Christine..." He knew he should not ask and did not want to ask, had to ask, had to know, demand an answer. He slid out of bed, stood, and slowly walked up to her. "I know you have been to the tunnels under the chateau," he blurted. She started and blushed, he hesitated. "You did no harm. I am not upset," he added quickly.

"I have only peeked." Her cheeks colored more, her eyes glued to the floor. "I remembered your warning but...I can't get lost if I just peek. It is not such a bad thing to...peek."

"You are curious, yes; I remember quite well how very curious my wife can be." He circled to stand behind her, turning her toward the mirror; with his long finger under her chin, he picked her head up until she looked into the mirror. "No harm was done. Only…I need to know and answer me carefully. Did you go into the tunnels while I was in Paris?" he managed, despite a dry mouth. They both stared into the mirror at the tall, masked man a head above a young girl with large, ingenuous eyes. His long, elegant fingers caressed her neck.

She bit her lower lip.

"Stop biting your lips and answer me. Did you visit the tunnels while I was away?"

"I have not," she answered swiftly, looking away from their image.

"Could you have been down there just once for more than a peek?" His fingertips touched her skin.

"No, no, why would I do that?" her voice little more than a gasp.

"Why would you do that indeed?" Tipping his head to the side, he stared at her image; the fragile column between his hands.

_**She lies!**_

In the mirror, flames danced in the dark eye sockets. His fingers slowly interlaced around her throat.

"You are holding me too tightly," she said quietly, staring at him in the mirror, her eyes as wide as saucers.

He quickly removed his hands to her shoulders and fluttered a kiss on her neck. "Yes, of course. Forgive, Erik. I forget how very delicate you are." A kiss to her shoulder followed. "Let us retire now, my dear. You must be exhausted."

_**She lies to you! **_

He would not listen to it; no matter how much the Voice rattled in his head. He breathed deeply, turned her to face him and hugged her. "My Christine," he murmured, "my wife," and pressed his lips to her temple in a prolonged kiss. She hugged him back. It was not enough for once. The music in his head played louder than it had for months.

-----------------------------------------o

He could not recall when he had undressed for bed, but he wore his nightshirt. He stared at his mask lying neatly on top of his folded clothes. He sat at the edge of their bed listening to the water running in the adjacent bathroom, holding the broken comb against his palm.

_**Betrayer ! **_

_Tomorrow, we will talk. I will ask her again, and she will tell me it was an oversight. She will remember, tomorrow, that she was down there many days ago because her curiosity got the better of her. _He began to hum "La fleur que tu m'avais jetèe" to himself.

_**She was with the boy!**_

If he did not answer, the Voice would go away; it always did if he managed not to answer it directly. He'd done it before and he would do it again. _Stop thinking!_ He got up abruptly and put the broken comb in the back of his desk drawer, covering it with music sheets. He would not allow himself to think, so he went on to hum a few stanzas from the new composition taking form in his head.

_**The boy takes for himself what is yours.**_

The Voice beckoned, wanted him to acknowledge it. His head swam with it. He took a large gulp of hot air. _No, no, no. I will not allow the madness to take me again. Erik's wife is…my…my wife is a good girl. She is just forgetful._ He swallowed, swallowed hard, and continued until his mouth was dry. He lay down on the bed scrunched into a ball, breathing hard and swallowing compulsively. He continued to hum.

By the time Christine returned from the bathroom, Erik was still turned toward the wall. He was a shuddering ball. His entire body ached from the tension. Pain was good; it kept the Voice out of his head.

_**Lies!**_

He hummed louder to drown out the Voice, while she pulled at the covers and got into bed. He wanted to slip into her arms but could not make himself turn over. She might not interrupt him if she thought he was composing_._

"Erik, what is wrong?"

She spooned behind him and rubbed his arms, but he could not respond. She pressed closer as she talked to him. He could not understand her words, but they were soft and soothing. Her body pressed against his from head to toes, giving him the warmth he desperately needed. He felt her curves through the thin material of her chemise, her buds coming to life against his back.

"Can't you see I was composing," his rebuke weaker than he had meant it to be.

Her hands slid around him, resting lightly on his chest. She kissed his shoulder. "No, you were not. You were making some strange garbled noises." Slowly she inched her way to his neck barely touching the skin there, making lazy circles with her tongue. The air in his lungs escaped, and his body unfurled under her ministrations.

Her lips brushed the shell of his ear speeding up his heart. "Turn to me, Erik."

He resisted, wanting to demand the truth from her. "I am not wearing my mask."

"I know." As always, it disarmed him when she chose to have his hideous face near her. Keeping his eyes down, he turned toward her and allowed her soft lips to cover his. At first contact, his instinct was, as always, to pull back and cover his face; he had learned to control that instinct with her, but his stomach knotted as he fought against the basic urge to survive. The tip of her tongue flicked against his lips. Compelled by his body's need, Erik pressed himself into her.

"I was composing," he insisted. "You never disturb me when…" She took advantage of his opening lips and slipped her tongue in alongside his, teasing it to play. Her hands bunched up his night shirt then slipped lower to his stomach and softly scratched at the tender skin there. It was all too much for Erik. He kissed her passionately, entering her mouth and exploring the soft velvety feel of it. He had the chemise up and over her head in one movement. Her bare chest swayed and settled inches from his face. His eyes burned gold, mesmerized by her beauty. _She looks like an angel, and yet she lies. _

"I want you," he murmured.

"Kiss me again," she demanded. Such an ordinary request and the former Phantom of the Opera was happy to oblige his wife. He did not need any thoughts to melt into her, to absorb her into his being.

----------------------------------------------o

"Why did it take you so long? It's morning already!" Erik bellowed as he approached the dark figure. "The new parts were sent to you yesterday."

"Sir, the man sent to us with the parts for the coach had instructions for us to have a meal and spend the night at the inn. Bit of a stiff lad there at first, but..." Sebastian continued with a wink and a slap to his stomach. "Had us a right g'ale on your ol'man's tab."

Erik rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed. "It is so satisfying to know you were working your way out of a drunken stupor this morning while I waited for you," he bristled. "Should have left you with the rats."

Sebastian shrugged sheepishly. "Ah well, I didn't get myself into nottin'. Just following orders, I was."

"Just get my things inside. I want them all in the back room on the first floor. The servant will tell you where." He pointed to the cottage on his way toward the coach.

"Here? You don't stay in the big house over there, sir?"

"No."

"Wants his fancy house to hisself?"

"No."

"S'pose he don' let your missus in either, even with them gentle ways 'bout her."

"Oh, God! Just put my things inside."

"Not a bad house s'pose. Better than them damp cellars. Least he lettin' you stay right on his land."

"I live out here by choice. And it is none of your business why, so do not ask."

"Where will I be staying, sir?"

"Back in Paris, if I had any sense," he murmured to himself and walked away from the figure in black.

Erik left the hulking figure loading his arms with packages and went around to the coach cabin. He checked the door; it was as secured as he had left it. He pulled back the bolt and opened the door. "Forgive me if you had a rough time, my dear. I will show you to your new home now." A cool comforting hand slid onto his. "Yes, I believe you will be happy here. I can provide you with everything you need."

At the edge of the pond, he sat back on his haunches to watch the slim silhouette elegantly glide into the tranquil waters of their pond.

She hesitated before going under completely, her luminous eyes smiling warmly at him, pleading.

"Fine, I'll sing for you. What would you like? The "L'ultimo ricordo" might be pleasant. I sang that for him during his funeral at Père Lachaise. They all thought it was a voice from heaven paying tribute to the Master. Idiots, they should have turned their gaze the other way." His mouth screwed up into a smirk. "I just began a new piece: a requiem for the boy. I know you have not met him formally, but you will soon enough. At any rate, my composition is not complete, so I cannot sing that for you, pity. My dear Christine gets to hear it first, even if she has been naughty of late! It is only fair. So, the Ode it is then? I have not sung this for a while, so do bear with me." He stood up, straight long arms at his sides, shoulders back, golden eyes trained on the figure descending into the water. Erik continued to sing as he observed the last ripples of the pond wane. The still waters reflected a cloudless sky.

----------------------------------------------oo

La fleur que tu m'avais jetée-Georges Bizet-Don José's tenor aria from Carmen

L'ultimo ricordo-Odi di un uom che muore-Gioachino Rossini


	39. Chapter 39 Titles and Ghosts

Black Despair©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, Christine, Meg, Raoul, Philippe, the Persian, and Madame Giry. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

**A/N:** Thank you to my wonderful readers and reviewers. Thank you to my beta **Busanda **who keeps me on my toes! If you get a chance please leave a review, it feeds the muse!

Chapter 39

Titles and Ghosts

Louis brushed his newly acquired stallion with firm loving strokes in rhythm to the far away strain of his son's song. The groom knew the marquis loved to spend time with his animals and so left him alone with the horse while he completed his other duties. Philippe leaned against the stall door, arms crossed over his chest, watching Louis enjoy his horse. Contrary to Louis, who wore his usual worn dark woolen coat, he was dressed in tan breeches, a powder blue coat, and a tan brocaded waistcoat. The elder Chagny loved owning and riding horses but never got involved in their daily care like Louis did. It was not unusual for his godfather to demand constant round-the-clock updates on his mares during a difficult delivery. It was also not unheard of for him to assist his veterinarian during the birth.

"You really like him, don't you?" he asked, nodding toward the horse. Louis smiled without looking up as he continued to stroke the animal. "I thought things went well last night," Philippe ventured.

"I agree," said Louis. "Erik handled Raoul's being here quite well, and our Raoul was the picture of a gentleman." He just caught the end of Philippe's eye roll.

"Come now, the boy did well under the circumstances. She was his first love after all."

"But just in case, let's not overburden Lady Luck," Philippe laughed. "We should leave."

"Beautiful, isn't he?" Louis stroked the animal's flanks making its black fur catch the light and gleam. "Want to ride him?" he asked softly, slapping the rump.

"I would love to, but I do not fancy losing my breakfast and ripping one of my favorite coats when the beast finally throws me," Philippe smirked.

Louis made a thoughtful yet mocking face. "It is one way of breaking in my steed. Get it out of his system." They both broke into laughter. He picked up a smaller brush and continued grooming. "He can smell his rival down there. Probably why he's so prickly this morning."

"Erik's voice is truly…" Philippe hesitated, unable to find just the right word. Louis simply nodded. "And _you_ are just beaming with pride."

"After so many years, Philippe. You know how long I searched for him."

"I know. You have every right to enjoy him," he smiled gently at the older man. "I should get back to the house in case a referee is needed," Philippe said, turning away.

"I'll be done in a minute," Louis said, continuing to brush the animal. "I think I'll mention your idea of a summer ball. I'm certain Christine will love it."

"My idea? Oh, no," Philippe exclaimed, "I suggested a get-together. You said ball."

Louis shrugged, "A few more hogs for the slaughterhouse. The château has been quiet for too long. It needs more music and laughter. Homes become sad structures if you ignore them."

---------------------------o

"I'm starving," Louis declared, as he and Erik walked down the hall toward the dining room.

"Hm."

Erik tensed involuntary when Louis put an arm around him.

"Still can't believe you're here with me," Louis gave him a light squeeze. "I heard you this morning. You are so talented."

Erik shifted his weight so that the arm fell away. "You should wash up."

"I did and changed." The older man drew up to his full height. "Look here, who's the father?"

He pulled his mask up slightly and sniffed. "You stink of horses."

"That's not a stink, it's a scent," Louis grinned.

"Hm. You should wash up."

Louis shrugged. "Philippe...I had an idea. Once the racing season gets under way, I'm thinking of having a ball. This is the ideal opportunity to introduce you to our circle as my son."

"I do not care to be paraded in front of a gaggle of aristocrats. Besides, I do not have the time. I am composing again. Christine on the other hand…"

"It wouldn't be like that," Louis interrupted.

"Besides, why should I care whether they accept me or not?"

"Never said I was giving them an option about accepting you. I am introducing you."

"What if they do not like me...not that it matters to me?"

"Neither do I care. They don't have to like you." He stopped walking to meet Erik's eyes. "But they have to accept you, respect you, and include you as my son and heir."

"Or?"

"Or I would consider it a direct challenge, a personal snub."

"And?"

"Their association with me ends. If they get off lightly," he finished under his breath.

"Then, _your_ association with _me_ could hurt you. Could they ostracize you?"

"It doesn't work that way." Louis pulled on Erik's sleeve, and they continued walking toward the dining room. "We are related to many of the people whom we would invite and have financial connections with the rest. To make it simple: our family is a very old one. We provide many things they need or think they need. The French aristocracy always _needs_."

"Needs or wants?"

"Does it matter?" Louis turned and smiled into his eyes. "The Rouxvilles will be fine. If we survived my father's…_astringent_ personality, we will be fine."

"Was he really that bad?"

"Worse, I have a scar or two as evidence."

"Do _we_ have needs?"

Louis smiled indulgently. "We too have needs...and wants."

"I do not wish to be a burden to you," Erik murmured.

"You are my joy, Erik. I waited a long time to have this," he smiled. "I don't believe we need to worry over a raid on the castle by wayward relatives with knightly aspirations of grandeur. And if there should be, I have connections with a certain phantom that would put a damper on their plans," he added with a wink.

"You might joke, but I am used to being a ghost; I am not sure I want to be out there with a title, being presented, on display…"

"It's done, Erik. You know that for Christine's protection I had to take care of the legalities while you were hurt. You agreed I should do that just in case..." He looked down at his hands, turning his palms up and inspecting them. "Well, you know I would have cared for her regardless."

"I think I knew it even if I was not all there."

Louis stopped mid-step. "I'm not forcing this on you. You can still formally refuse, but..."

"I never thanked you for taking care of Christine while I was...indisposed," Erik said, breaking eye contact.

"It was not necessary," Louis shrugged.

"Yes, it was. Thank you." A smile almost made it to his lips. "You know how I feel about titles and the aristocracy."

"Everything else being the same, had you been born on this estate the title would have been foisted on you from the moment of your birth."

"Assuming I was not first drowned as an aberration." He looked at Louis' shocked face. "Not you…Grandpapa!"

Louis sighed, looking at Erik and continued, "You know she wants this very much."

"Yes, she loves the idea of being a part of _la noblesse._" He took a deep breath, leaned against the wall, and let it seep out slowly. "If I were not so against the principle..."

"Do you want her to resent you for this? She has put such work into what she believes will be her new role." They stared at each other until a wry smile appeared on Louis's lips. "It is something Raoul would have over you, _if_ that still worries you."

Erik groaned.

"_That_ is the least of the things he has over me." Erik looked away from the honey gold gaze. "Did they spend much time together?"

"When?"

"While I was away."

"They did while she was chaperoned...and yes, she was, all the time. When Alexa was otherwise occupied, I made my not so small sacrifice to the cause of the family's honor," Louis said with a mocking bow. "I tell you, I do not favor a cold bed."

"I do not want her spending any time with him," Erik scowled. "Chaperoned or otherwise."

"If you must keep your wife shackled, then do not abandon her on a damned whim and _you_ hold on to the chain!" Louis said sternly. He stepped in front of Erik, blocking his way. "Yes, things happen, and if two people wish to be together nothing on this Earth will stop it. I do not believe that is what Christine wants. But because things do happen is why husbands remain by the side of their wives. Trust me on that."

"Christine is worthy of my trust, it is that damned vicomte I do not trust."

Louis softened his tone. "Do not trust him if you will, but give her what she wants, Erik."

Erik leaned the back of his head against the wall by the entrance to the dining room. "All I ever wanted was to be a common man, an ordinary citizen. A man no one would think to look at or point out but because of my deformity. I was denied that...now, it is because of my birth...my dishonorable birth not withstanding."

"You are fortunate to have the choice. Do you realize that most people would do anything, even kill, to be titled and sole heir to this estate?" He waved with his arm. "We have influence beyond the French borders, money beyond our ability to spend. All you have to do is remember that you are the son of the late Lady Analiese Holstein-Kassel and Louis Charles, Marquis du Bourg-Denis." He snapped his finger. "And all other details of your life are unimportant."

"Even the mask?"

"Even the mask!"

"That deception would be something to relish."

"My lord?"

Louis turned toward the butler who handed him a letter.

"This arrived for you earlier, my lord."

"How can you trust him?" Erik asked as the man left them.

"Who? Gilles? His father and his father's father worked for us. They were all born here."

"He is very pretty."

"I suppose," he said breaking the seal on the letter.

"The chambermaids must be all over him."

"They would be, but he has his preferences."

Erik frowned in confusion.

"He will need to train his nephew to take over his job someday…because of his preference." His father shrugged his shoulders and unfolded the letter.

"Oh."

"Look a letter from Holstein-Kassel himself. He will be in France by the end of the month."

Bewildered, Erik shook his head.

"My brother-in-law…your uncle."

"The deception grows."

"A partial and necessary misrepresentation—it is only to circumvent the law, which places on you the burden of your mother's marital status at your birth."

"I ought not inherit your titles if I am a bastard. That, Father, makes it a full-fledged deception."

"I would have remedied that, had I known in time."

"You do not really believe that your father would have allowed such a union? I dare say you would be sporting a few more scars for the mere mention of it."

"No, I dare say that your grandfather would not have been…pleased." Louis looked away for a moment. "You are my only son, Erik. Would you rather your cousins usurp your place?"

"Cousins?"

"Second or third cousins…I think," Louis mumbled. There were four still-births before I was born making me the sole heir. This means, I have no siblings, and you luckily have no first cousins. But my father did have several siblings. If I did not have a firm unquestionable heir, their progeny would be here like locusts."

Erik sighed loudly. "How many people belong to this family?"

Louis shrugged.

"Never mind, I can't bear the thought of Christine getting shoved off by some title-hungry relative after I am gone." He noticed the elaborate pattern on the tiles for the first time. "I will accept the title for her."

"Titles."

Erik's head shot up. "Titles?"

Louis winced at Erik's tone. "Well, it would not have been proper or logical for me to have just given you one. Custom is everything with these things." Louis did not meet his eyes, but he could see the side of his son's mouth twitching below the mask.

"I will do it for my wife...and for you. But do not expect me to become what I cannot be. I need my privacy. Whether others like it or not I am still essentially a ghost," he grumbled.

"A ghost, huh? You would do well to remember that _ghosts_ do not get to select their widow's new spouse."

Louis entered the dining room leaving Erik blinking and gaping behind him.

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End file.
